The Psychology of a Shattered Mind
by Liashi FNA Sora
Summary: After finally managing to escape the Bowin Islands, Usopp is captured by the Celestial Dragons, and by time rescue comes ... perhaps, for him and many other things, it comes too late. AU from 524, gen, dark. Chapter 16: Adrift
1. Salt

**August, 2010****  
Warnings:** This originally started out as a dark one-shot. Expect there to be darker material in later chapters, even compared to what's in this first chapter. The backstory is by nature worse than the end result. (I've finally decided the future potential for content needing warning is too high for there ... not to be a warning.) This is a story about psychological trauma and emotional abuse, the very real consequences of those things, and the struggle to recover. Yes, people may die (although I can tell you right now, side characters, not Straw Hats.) Yes, there will be intense, graphic violence at times. Yes, there will be mentions/incidences of non-con and/or dub-con (it's established canon, what do you think Celestial Dragons kidnap women off the street and make them their wives _for_?) I don't intend to write anything gratuitously, and the most intense things likely will not be described in explicit detail, but this story may at some later point warrant an M rating for some of the content I now have in mind.

Not every moment will be dark, but all that said, if you're looking for something very intense in the H/C dark genfic category, something that's going be a little different from the usual "torture Sanji and/or Zoro" fics (not that there's anything _wrong_ with that usual, mind you, I like them very much XD), then this is the place. My main focus is Usopp. He will be given a large amount of attention here, as will what it means to be "nakama" and how far that dedication extends to someone whose psyche has suffered devastating damage. I realize this may be a tall order. I hope I can do it justice.

* * *

**The Psychology of a Shattered Mind  
**by Liashi

The smell of clean salt has gone from his skin.

In his mind the ocean is an expanse of pure blue, unruffled. He lies in the middle of it on a wooden deck warmed by the sun—a great lightning-white ball whose heat penetrates everything, making his body relaxed, whole with the boards beneath him. The sky is a lighter blue but the day is so clear it is hard to tell the sky and sea apart, except for the fact that one is wet when touched.

But even in memory, there is no salt. Not in the air, not in the water.

When he thinks about the ocean, there is still warmth, even if the sharpness of salt is missing. The memory of warmth only makes his body feel colder. He draws his knees closer to his chin, as close as they can get with the thick collar that is around his neck in the way, and tightens his grip on the hilt of his weapon: a ragged, dirty cloth wrapped around something metal and sharp-edged. A broken sword, maybe. He has not seen it. His masters blindfolded him to make his fights "more interesting."

It is a matter of time until something joins him. Something that is not friendly. There is a fifty-fifty chance that the next mealtime will mean his death and not food.

The slave shifts his feet farther out, straining to feel the smallest vibrations which can indicate the approach of a foe. He needs to live, although he has forgotten the original _why_. After lasting this long in this place, the only thing left is survival, even if it seems meaningless. After so many have died so he could survive, to give in now would be to accept that the blood on his hands belongs there, and thinking about it is something that makes him wants to curl up on his side.

_Once there was a boat, where no one died. One of the crew had died once, but he had come back to life—that was how amazing they were. Everyone on the boat was so strong, that even the dangers which would kill entire islands were defeated by the crew. And they were lead by the best captain in the world—the bravest, and most reckless man on the four seas. And the captain's name was—it was—_

_Was—_

He can't remember the captain's name, but it is a good story, and he whispers it to himself when he feels the loneliest, when his mind wanders and he thinks he might float away. Even if he can't hear his own voice, there is something important in the fact that his lips are moving. There is something important about feeling his dry and cracked skin rubbing against itself. That is all telling the story is, he supposes, an exercise in existence. It doesn't have an ending, just like the captain has no name. He's tried to make one up, for both those things, but he couldn't find any that fit.

The wall at his back trembles and he tenses. This is new. He doesn't know what kind of enemy could make the whole wall tremble, but it is one that strikes fear in his heart. What he does know is that an enemy that can make the wall tremble is one he is unlikely to survive a fight with.

The wall and the floor shudder next. He rocks to a crouch now, weapon lifted, impact dial that had been lying beside him in the other hand. If there is going to be food, it should have come by now, so this must be the fight he is expecting. The strongest rumble yet is followed by displaced air is rushing over his skin, bringing with it the sensation of staccato pinpricks of broken stone. The sound of the explosion is loud enough to hear through the plugs in his ears. He grips the impact dial tighter.

Turning in the direction of the explosion, he runs a dry tongue over equally dry lips, then almost dry heaves when the smell of salt drifts into the cell. Alarmed, he staggers back, stepping over the litter on the floor with the perfection of memory. He knows exactly where the floor is clear and where it isn't, because every battle for survival he's fought since he came here has ended inside these four walls. If the slave will survive this one—he doesn't know, this beginning is too odd.

When he backs into the adjoining wall there is a pause in which nothing seems to happen. For a moment there are only his ragged breaths and his stomach clenching when the smell of salt reaches him again. Then, he senses something step through the hole that has been blasted in the wall.

For a long moment, nothing happens.

Shock? Shock at this room? Good, that's very good. The enemy is caught off guard.

A hand touches his shoulder, confusing his sense of depth and alarming him. The enemy's presence is still too far away for it to merely reach out and touch him, unless his instincts are failing him. The salt in the air is stronger now. He slashes at the offending appendage, hoping to cut deep, and is rewarded with warm drops splattering on his arm. The hand withdraws from his shoulder.

More things are entering through the hole, bringing with them an increasingly salty odor. The final number is somewhere between six and eight. His stomach is turning and his body is trembling all over. Six? Seven? Eight? All he can think of is how doomed he is against this many enemies. Everything that had come to kill him before, in one-on-one matches, had been hard enough to deal with, and he has the sliced and bruised skin, the twisted and torn muscles, and the broken bones to prove this.

The things are coming closer now. He can sense it and smell it. He backs into the corner and tightens his grip on the blade in one hand. There is another moment where nothing happens and he fights turning into a quivering pile on the floor. Putting this much weight on his right leg hurts. His chest aches with every breath, promising sharper pain if he draws in air any more deeply.

His breath catches, and he feels liquid bubbling up from his lungs. He brings an arm up, trying to hide what is happening—_don't show weakness!_—but he coughs up too much and the blood is nearly spilling off his arm. Despite the fit leaving him ready to drop to his knees, he keeps his feet and strains his senses for any hint that might give away their next move.

Hands grip his wrists, coming from an impossible angle, and force him to drop both weapons. He waves his arms wildly, but can't find the body that should go with those hands. A similarly impossible number of hands pull him against the corner all at once, until he can move little but his head and arms. It's _unnatural_. More hands are pulling at the blindfold and earplugs he's been made to wear while something else tugs at the collar.

White-hot panic rises at the fact that someone is tampering with the collar. His hands fly up to stop whatever is happening but the collar simply clatters to the floor, slipping past his fingers. The blindfold and the earplugs are the next to go, leaving him blinking in flickering torchlight, waiting for his blurry vision to clear. There are yells that sound like protests, but he can't tell whether they're coming from his own mouth or someone else's. There are harsh gasps, the start of a voice crying out before it cuts off. The arms release him and he slides down onto his backside. When he looks up, the figures which greet his eyes are standing, watching, silhouetted by a raised torch in the hand of the tallest of the entrants—who is unbelievably tall. There is something wrong with the figure's face—the eyes are dark and look hollow—but this doesn't surprise him. Little surprises him anymore.

He thinks perhaps he should know these people—like maybe he's seen them before.

It is now that his gaze trails down to the floor. He knew the bodies were there before—these particular masters don't see a need to send in a clean-up service for the aftermath of their day's entertainment—but without the blindfold—

He wipes the blood from his mouth as an afterthought as he continues staring down, his enemies momentarily forgotten.

_Remember when you fought that one there?_

The looser of the first battle he survived lurches up from its sprawled posture on the ground. Its eyeless sockets stare at him as what's left of the body's flesh pools around the remaining skeleton. The jaw is jerking up and down, but all that comes out of the fleshless mouth is a hissing sound.

A rotten smell overtakes the scent brought by those who have broken down the wall. He is choking on his own throat and he presses himself more firmly into the corner than the hands did before. Unable to get enough air, his fingers dig at the floor beneath, as if finding actually purchase on the smooth surface might afford him some ability to change that.

The bodies littering the floor around him begin to rise, joints clicking as they sway. A jumble of voices assaults him, all of its members too loud and too incoherent. These voices scrape past him, making to slice into his cheek, his shoulder, his side. He winces away from the invisible blows. He is still clawing at the ground, fingers starting to become warm and slick. His hand finds the sword again, and he grips it without heed for the sharpness of the unprotected blade.

He stares at the blood dribbling down from his hand from the new cut before lifting his head and tightening his grip. A few of the bodies drag themselves closer. One glops wetly when it shifts an arm. Another growls a gurgling imitation of the bear-like snarl it had in life.

A sandaled foot steps through the bodies, as if they are not even there, and they drop to the ground, going silent. A boy, mouth set in a firm downward curve, walks up without a glance at the monsters he has just felled and stops in front of him. There is dirt smudged all over the boy—on his skin, on his face—and ground into scrapes and bruises. Dark eyes watch the slave widely, without a hint of boy's intention in them. There is only an expectance of something. The boy is waiting, unknowable.

_The moment he attacks… the moment he…attacks… _His grip tightens even further on the blade, then can't anymore. It has reached bone. Still, he waits for the boy to make the first move.

One of the boy's fisted hands comes up, pressing the round-brimmed hat he's wearing further down his forehead, casting the eyes into shadow. In the uncertain light coming from the group behind, something wet on the boy's face glistens. The unhappy curve of the boy's mouth becomes a harsh frown, with the corners straining ever harder downward.

"Usopp…" A drop falls from the boy's chin. "I'm sorry." The boy's voice is wavering strangely, and the hat is crumpling under his hand. "We didn't—we didn't come fast enough." There are streaks growing in the dirt smudged on the boy's face. His voice drops to a struggling whisper. "I'm sorry."

He has no reply. Especially for words he doesn't understand.

The boy turns around, exposing his back, and then he crouches, arms loose at his sides. The curve of the boy's back is almost touching the point of the blade. If the slave wanted he could simply push forward, plunge the blade in, and this boy would be paralyzed, maybe even killed.

It would be easy. But these people have not entered the usual way, and there has been no bell announcing the start of a match. He is not certain what to do. Nothing about this situation fits established patterns.

Staring at the boy's back, he finally realizes that they are not wearing collars, and that they must have been the ones to take off his. He doesn't know how they did it, but it is not ticking. It will not explode.

"Usopp," the boy says, his voice still low, "If you want, we can still take you back to the Sunny. Back to safety. We can get you out of here. C'mon. Get on my back."

The boy doesn't glance over his shoulder for even a moment, though he must know how close the tip of blade is. The slave is torn. If he puts down his weapon now, he'll be defenseless—

He wonders what 'Usopp' means.

Another round of coughing bubbles up, and he leans against the wall again, spent. His arm is shaking with the effort of holding up the blade. There is no fight imminent, and the adrenaline that propelled him before is waning.

"Luffy-san—" says the one holding the torch in a low voice.

"Shh!" Hisses the boy. "He's deciding." Softer now, the boy continues. Somehow the slave knows that the boy is speaking to him again, although the boy still doesn't glance back. "You don't have to be afraid anymore. Okay? I'll protect you now."

The slave runs a dry tongue over dry lips again. He wants to trust everything to these familiar strangers, but he doesn't know if he should—if it's worth the risk. They could save him, but they could kill him too.

The figures beyond the boy shift. Something tinkles, something else clicks. The smell of salt grows once more before fading to the constant level it's been at since the wall was broken down.

This time, his stomach doesn't clench. Instead, hot tears are starting to run down his face. He doesn't think he feels sadness, or despair, or anything that should make him cry, so he doesn't know why he is.

"W—" he wheezes, the word fading on his tongue. His voice is gravely, and broken, and it grates on his own ears. "—Leave?"

The boy seems to understand the one word question perfectly. "Uhn," he says, nodding. The hands make an inviting motion. "C'mon."

He can't turn his head away from the wall to make the sound any clearer. He doesn't have the strength. "For—fo—'rever?"

Another nod, sharper than the last.

Breaths quickening, he drops the sword and shifts. His hand inches, trembling, to the boy's shoulder. He touches the boy briefly with his fingertips, to test whether he is really there and, if touched, what will happen. Nothing. Not even movement.

The slave's head is starting to spin, the room wobbling, when he rests both hands on the boys shoulders. Pushing off from the wall, he collapses onto the boy's back, wrapping his arms around the thin neck. The boy is strong, despite the scrawny appearance. He can tell merely by touch, by the way the boy's muscles ripple as he shifts around.

The boy half rises from his crouch, then, and after feeling along the slave's upper legs, he hooks his arms under the slave's knees. The slave is smearing blood on the back of the boy's shirt—it's still dripping from his hand as well—but the boy doesn't seem to care, so neither does he. Instead, he drops the side of his head down onto the back of the boy's neck. His head rests low enough that the boy's hat is undisturbed.

The salt is heavy on the boy's skin and clothing. When he starts forward, the former slave closes his eyes and heaves a small sigh, small enough that he doesn't choke on that scent.

"Oi, Luffy, we gotta get out of here. Second round of explosives is set to go off any minute," a deep voice says. It is terse, but level, almost as if the speaker has been offended in some minor way and is doing a bad job of covering it.

"Uhn," the boy—Luffy? Luffy, isn't it?—says. It's strange to feel the boy's voice vibrating his chest. "Let's go."

_Luffy._

Might be a good name for a captain.

Luffy's gait is smoother than he is expecting. He feels safer than he probably should on Luffy's back and he struggles to stay conscious. There are screams, the sharp grating of swords clashing, but if the party is ever in real trouble during the loudest of these noises, he cannot tell. His vision wavers, spots dancing in it, whenever he tries to open his eyes. He gets glimpses of color—orange, pink, blue, green—but the images are always too blurred and jumbled to make much sense of, except for the fact that the colors are not always the product of his fading awareness.

The only thing he is really sure of is that a large portion of the white blur, a blur that glares harsh in the light, is that of the buildings of Mariejoa. He has spent most of his time as a prisoner of the Holy City's Celestial Dragons in dark underground dungeons, but he remembers the glorious outer shell. However, he does not remember the awe he felt when he saw it for the first time. He only remembers the dread.

Luffy is still running.

* * *

He opens his eyes with a gasp. The dazzling color and light is gone, replaced by a gray darkness. For a moment, he does not remember what happened, is not certain why he is hanging onto someone, so he tenses until the memories come back. The scare leaves him shuddering.

He is still on Luffy's back. There is gunfire, echoing and distant like in a dream, but it doesn't seem to bother Luffy. It takes the once-prisoner a moment to realize that they are moving through the air. How, he is not sure.

They set down onto a hard surface. The once-slave lifts his head a little to catch a glimpse of the surroundings as Luffy turns in place. A ship? They're standing on a deck? His eyes widen at the sight of green covering the deck that is below the level they have landed on. The light is so dim and it doesn't seem possible, but could it be that the deck is covered in…_grass_?

Lifting a hand to scratch under his hat, Luffy mumbles a puzzled sound to himself. "Chopper's not here." After glancing back and forth, he shrugs. "Maybe he's waiting in the sick bay."

The once-slave stares down as they begin to move. Even dazed as he is, even as dark as it is, he is sure now that the green is grass after all. He hasn't seen such a plant since...since…since some time he can't place. Luffy approaches a door and opens it. The room beyond is pitch black. The once-slave is suddenly reminded of darkness, stench, and stone walls, and struggles to get off Luffy's back. He doesn't want to go into that place. Even if it doesn't smell and is made of wood, he doesn't want to go into that dark.

Making a questioning sound in his throat, Luffy twists his neck to look at what the once-slave is doing. "It's the sick bay, where we'll make you feel better. Chopper's not here yet, but—oi!" The once-slave has kicked Luffy rather hard in his attempt to escape. Luffy frowns and grapples for his hold on his struggling burden, making no further move to enter the room. "Don't you want to go inside? It's safe, and you can rest."

Stopping his struggles since he is already exhausted by them, he scrunches his eyes shut and tightens his grip on Luffy. "Down."

"Down?"

"…Green." He wants to say something more, to explain, but he can't muster the energy.

Luffy seems to understand, however, and turns around. "You wanna go to the lower deck?"

He nods his head as well as he can while one cheek is pressed against Luffy's back. There is a long pause, then Luffy leaps down to the lowest deck of the ship. The once-slave wiggles a little, itching to touch the grass, the green, the _life_, now that he can smell it under his feet.

Luffy lowers the once-slave to the ground, then eases him to lie back on the grass, and hovers after that, biting his lower lip and creasing his brows. Luffy still has one hand on his arm. The once-slave stares past him.

He can't see the sky; there is dark stone above them blocking the way. He doesn't know where they are, or how the boat can be under stone, or even how the grass can grow on a deck—but because of the grass he can almost imagine the sky. The sky, if he could see it, would surely be blue. Blue, with clouds of pure white creeping along, that pure white unimaginably whiter than the buildings of Mariejoa.

His next breath sends him into another fit of coughs that bring up more blood. He curls onto his side but hardly notices the ache in his chest or the chill in his body or the exhaustion that is deepening. Luffy's hovering more closely, more worried-looking than ever before. _It'll be all right_, he wants to whisper to his mysterious rescuer, but the words can't make it to his lips. _Don't worry_. _This moment, lying here on this earthy smelling grass with that blue, blue sky close enough overhead to imagine, and the sound of gentle waves breaking against the ship, is perfect._

It's perfect.

The salty tinge of the sea in the air overwhelms him, and he sinks down into the dark.

* * *

**A/N from January, 2010: **Because I couldn't find enough good H/C and/or angst on the site, nor the proper proportion of Genfic/Nakamaship, and especially not enough about Usopp in either category. So this one shot-ish idea popped into my head which maybe is really not all that original and is also maybe a bit too evil, but I had fun working in a metaphor or two. The Luffy and Halfdeadamnesiac!Usopp interaction was interesting as well. It could go on from here, but I'm afraid of what kind of monster it could turn into, so I'd rather not make any commitments.

**Edit (26th of April, 2010):** I just realized how little sense the ending to this chapter made, especially since I edited something previously in an attempt to make it line up with later chapters better. It only made the hole more obvious. So, a more significant edit. I'm surprised no one's noticed (or mentioned) the glaring error.

Constructive criticism or error correction is always welcome. Reviews are loved


	2. Undersea

**The Psychology of a Shattered Mind****  
**by Liashi  
2: Undersea

Nami is exhausted, but confident that she has not been followed, when she finally clambers onto the Thousand Sunny. She's glad to have the so-called Holy City behind her; she has seen enough of that giant whitewashed tomb to last her a lifetime. She knew the Celestial Dragons were cruel, cold, horrible people, but she didn't expect her opinion of them to drop so low that she can't see the human in them anymore than she saw it in Arlong. She had thought that perhaps there could be a few tolerable individuals among them, just as there are a few tolerable marines, but now she is certain that is not the case. With any luck, the damage they have done here in their quest to recover Usopp will keep Mariejoa from being a destination worth going to for the rest of their natural lives.

It is the very least that would appeal to a sense of justice.

Hurrying at once toward the sick bay door with a knot growing in her gut and one too many variations on the worst case scenario in her head, she jerks to a halt when she catches a glimpse of bright red on the grass of the lower deck. When she realizes what her idiot captain has _not_ done and what he has done_ instead_, her jaw clenches.

"_Luffy!_" The name is not shouted, it is screamed, and at once the object of her ire whips around with apprehension. She knocks him on the head before he can get in a word of justification. "Just what is Usopp laying out here in the grass for, _idiot_? Get him into the sick bay!"

Luffy rubs the newly formed lump under his hat, looking at Nami with that slightly pouty, kicked-puppy look he usually reserves for a thwarted mealtime. "But Nami," he whines, "He wanted to lie on the grass. He was afraid of the dark room." Luffy glances down at the marksman he is crouched beside, and the pout turns a little angry. "If you keep shouting, you'll wake him up."

Nami softens a little at this explanation, but she is still frowning as she puts her fists on her hips. Looking at Usopp, who has one hand clenched around grass, a few blades poking up from between his fingers, she can almost see a kind of logic in why Luffy didn't fight the sharpshooter on the request. Still, she knows that they need to get him inside and into a bed. They have to treat his wounds.

At this thought, she wishes for a few Celestial Dragons to zap with some more Thunder Tempos.

"Where's Chopper?" Luffy breaks her increasingly violent train of thought.

Nami puts a hand to her head, shoving back her orange locks. "I don't know. With Brook, last I saw. Everyone got split up. I just hope someone stayed with Zoro or he'll never get back here." She glances about at the giant tunnel shielding the ship from easy view of the city of Mariejoa. This really isn't that safe of a place to stay. It's only a matter of time before they're discovered here. Once they have Usopp in a bed in the sick bay, she decides, they'll head deeper into the tunnel again to wait for everyone else.

"C'mon Luffy, if he's asleep now, we better get him into a bed and do what we can until Chopper gets here. He won't know the difference if he's not awake, right?"

Luffy ponders this a moment, then gathers Usopp in his arms, leaping up to the sick bay door to the sound of his legs stretching and snapping back.

Nami takes the stairs.

Luffy has already laid Usopp out on the sick bay bed when she arrives, and is about to make a mess of Chopper's carefully arranged shelf of bandages. Nami intervenes by swatting his hand away. The good doctor would owe her for having to protect his valuables, like anyone else, but she's kind of owed _him_ since the beginning of their relationship. Besides, who charges a reindeer money, anyway? "Touch them without permission and owe me a hundred thousand berry," she tells Luffy instead.

Rather than pout, Luffy—either in a rare show of wisdom or a state of distracted eagerness—asks what _he_ can do, then. She sets him to fetching a bowl of clean water while she selects the appropriate amount of bandages.

"_Where is he!_"

Chopper comes bursting into the room, eyes bulging and chest heaving, and Nami ends up sending rolls of bandages all over the floor. Brook is ducking down at the doorway to stare after Chopper, but he does not enter. His gaze edges over to Usopp for a long moment, while Nami is berating Chopper for startling her and Chopper is fretting about "bandage sanitation." Luffy comes back from the kitchen with the assigned item and stands and stares blankly at them, all while chewing on a large slab of meat.

After gathering up the scattered rolls, Chopper takes the bowl of water from Luffy, carefully inspecting it for contamination. Then he shoos everyone from the room so he can work.

"Shoppa 'ill phickim uh ood," Luffy declares around the meat sticking from his mouth. He pushes it halfway down his throat with a hand and swallows, seeming disinclined to move from the front of the sick bay door. He is being unusually attentive, Nami thinks.

"How's Longnose-bro?" asks a worried voice. Franky has come up behind Nami and is tipping his shades up to his forehead.

"Chopper's treating him," Nami tells the cyborg, folding her arms. "We need to get this ship further into the tunnels, but we can't go back under the water until Robin's here."

Franky nods, letting his shades fall back down to his metal nose. "Leave it me and Channel Zero." He waves at Brook to follow him. "Help me out, Skeleton-bro?"

Brook straightens, seeming pleased at the request, and follows Franky below.

By time the ship is getting underway, Sanji has shown up, sporting a bloodied arm and a rumpled appearance—but in one piece otherwise. He sticks a cigarette into his mouth, but holds off on lighting it when Nami glares at him. She doesn't want to have any of his stupid cigarette smoke escaping the tunnel and somehow leading the marines back to them. "Poor Robin-chan got stuck with that sack of muscle, I think," he explains, "But at least she'll keep the idiot from going to the HQ building thirty times." Here he pauses, glancing at the sick bay door.

"Chopper's taking care of him," Nami says, wondering if she'll have to answer this question for the rest of the crew as well. It's annoying, but she doesn't want to leave until Chopper comes back out and gives them a full prognosis.

_It's been six long months trying to pull this crew back together, and five of those were wasted just looking for him,_ she thinks to herself._ He's delayed me and made me spend money on puttering around just because Luffy refused to continue without him. Of course I want to know. I want to know if, in the end, we've wasted all this time or not!_

Nami has a hard time not tapping her foot as she waits, especially when Luffy starts sticking a finger up his nose so far that she thinks he might be massaging his own brain. Zoro and Robin still have not returned—she's getting a little worried—when Chopper finally emerges, looking quite solemn.

There is only one question for that expression. "How bad, Chopper-kun?"

The doctor is pushing his hooves against each other as he talks, not meeting Nami's, Sanji's, or Luffy's eyes. "I'm going to have to re-break an arm and a leg so that they can set right. He's really weak, definitely malnourished. There's a lot of cuts and bruises, some of them infected, deep, or both. The only good news is that the ankle I thought might be shattered at first was just a bad sprain. But the thing I'm really worried about…" Chopper looks up then, eyes large and watery, "…it's that internal damage. On top of the other things, especially the infections and the malnutrition, I don't…I just don't know if…" Chopper looks down again, guilty and worried.

Sanji grunts harshly, dropping the never-lit cigarette and crushing it under one foot while he mutters something that sounds like it might be a string of swear words. He stops with a blink and then makes a disgusted and frustrated sound, picking the smashed cigarette back up and putting it into his mouth with a jerky, angry motion.

Luffy pops his finger from his nose and stares at Chopper, hunched over. "Oi, what're you saying?"

"He's saying Usopp might not make it, idiot!" Sanji snaps. He has one hand stuck in the pocket where his lighter is, and it's moving around inside, as if he's fiddling with the object, barely keeping himself from pulling it out.

Luffy's brows turn inward, his voice growing harsh. "Don't say garbage like that! Of course he'll make it, because he's Usopp. Plus we have Chopper taking care of him."

Chopper looks somewhat encouraged, though not completely reassured, by this vote of confidence. Sanji snorts but makes no reply, having learned long ago that there's no sense in arguing with their captain when he's making that kind of face.

Pulling a folder paper from the pocket of his shorts, Chopper holds it up to Sanji. "Could you please make these soups and syrups? The sooner we can get nutrition into him, the better."

"Right," Sanji says, taking the paper and only pausing to silently ask permission to cut through the sick bay. After nodding, Chopper follows Sanji inside, and Luffy follows Chopper.

Leaning against the deck railing with a sigh, she looks up as a muffled explosion issues from somewhere above and dust and small stones rain down onto the ship. "If that stupid Mihawk wannabe doesn't get back here with Robin soon," she mutters, "I'm raising his interest again."

* * *

Their ship dives under the water, back down toward Fishman Island, after Zoro and Robin rush aboard warning that they're being followed. Although Robin says that the marines are quite far behind, there is no sense in tipping off the WG to a direct route from Fishman Island to Mariejoa if they don't have to. The fish-folk have gone to a great deal of trouble to keep the fact quiet, while, similarly, the Strawhats have gone to a lot of trouble to convince the fish-folk to allow them to employ the route in the first place.

Zoro complains that the whole business has been a big pain. He didn't get to cut down as many marines or Celestial Dragons as he would have liked.

Nami tells him to shut up and be grateful he got to cut down more than rest of them did. Sanji backs her up on the sentiment, starting a fight between himself and Zoro that Nami doesn't have the energy to do anything about except yell and bash them both over the head. Within a number of hours of leaving Mariejoa, they are docked at the beautiful underwater Fishman Island, colorful fish-folk and twisting seaweed visible in every direction. Once more, they are running the "water guards" that Rayleigh gave them to keep the ocean off of the deck as part of his coating job. Nami looks out into the water at the sights she had viewed with impatient hope before they set out for Mariejoa and wonders why all she feels now is bitter.

The ship is eerily quiet in comparison—in comparison even to when they were still looking for Usopp. Not even Luffy voices his demands for food as loudly as usual. It seems as if they are all waiting for Usopp to be on the upward climb of recovery before breathing again.

The crisis point comes three days into their time docked at the island. Chopper spends all day tending to a very feverish Usopp, and refuses to let anyone else touch him. The reindeer is clearly stung out and won't break for meals—as if doing either would spell doom for his patient. Zoro, after staring at Usopp for a good fifteen minutes that evening, declares his intent to stay up with the doctor the rest of the night. Chopper reluctantly agrees to it—which is the thing that disturbs Nami the most—but he insists that everyone else sleep, because they need rest a lot more than their power-napper swordsman.

Zoro, sitting on a stool pulled up to the bedside, frowning grimly, and resting one hand atop of Usopp's, is an image that troubles Nami all night. She ends up tossing and turning in her bed, but she forces herself to stay in it. There's nothing she can do for Usopp anyway. The water outside is just beginning to brighten when she throws her covers off and heads to the sick bay in a shaky daze, knowing that sleep is a lost cause. There is no point in waiting to check now that the dawn has come.

Her stomach lurches in anticipation as she opens the door, but it quickly settles. The first sign that the crisis is over is Zoro hunched over in the corner, snoring. Chopper, wrapping clean bandages around one of Usopp's arms, looks over at her and smiles a watery, but wide and true smile for the first time in days.

Nami smiles also, blinking back tears and trying not to sink to the floor. "I wasn't worried about him," she says, pretending that she is scrubbing at sleepy eyes and not watery ones. "I just thought I'd stop by before breakfast, is all."

* * *

He is aware of sounds before touch. This seems out of order, but he is too comfortable to give it much thought. Every sensation is fuzzy and muted, which is far more pleasant than his last memory of what most sensations felt like.

Quiet conversation makes up most of what he hears. There are occasionally the sounds of movement, and always somewhere in the background there is a strange groaning which is not human, nor monster. He doesn't know what to make of the noise but he feels too relaxed to worry about it, even if worrying would be the proper thing to do. After that, he gets used to it. The sound belongs to this place, somehow.

Is he dead, or did they give him something "nice" again…?

Although he has be lying here barely aware of his surroundings, either of those two options are worthy of investigation, so he works on dragging his eyes open.

Opening them is much easier as an idea.

"Oh, had I known he was above us months ago, I would've gone up there and—and—" A squelching accompanies a nasal, strung-out sounding voice.

"We know. We know you would have. But regrets are useless, and it would have been suicidal to try going yourself. Just tell me you can see why it'd be best for us to stay docked here for a while."

"Don't worry, we'll talk to the Head Fish for you. I'm sure you can stay as long as you need."

"Thanks for coming to see him."

"If it's all right, I'd like to come again."

"Of course. You're always welcome aboard the Sunny."

There is a smile, albeit a quiet one, in the last statement. These sound like voices he should know, so he tries harder to open his eyes. However, when he finally does, there is nothing in the room save for something that looks like a stuffed animal sitting at a desk, it back to him. He blinks, then licks dry lips and tries his voice. "Where—?"

The stuffed animal whirls around without warning, and his heart leaps a little farther than his body. He screams. The stuffed animal look-a-like does the same and tears from the room, a look of complete terror on its face. The door slams behind it.

His mouth claps shut and he feels sheepish. It seems the "stuffed animal" was more surprised than him…

He falls back to the pillow, worry over whether or not he is in danger overcome by a wave of dizziness. He is surprised to notice the absence of aches and bruises, and looking at himself, is doubly surprised by the swathes of bandages. He's been treated, in this room, even. The air smells of mint and antiseptic—a scent not altogether unpleasant—and he inhales deeply. He is not sure where he is or how he got here, but he should probably enjoy the peace while he can.

Maybe, since he stayed alive so long, the masters wanted him to fight longer…?

_That's not how the Gray Ring works!_

He shakes his head at his own thoughts, recalling a fuzzy memory of what he thought was a rescue. His first instinct is to discount it as an incredible dream, but if what he is experiencing now is to be believed, then rescue seems…possible.

Swallowing, he feels for his blade, throwing the covers off when he doesn't find it. A quick sweep of the bed doesn't turn up the impact dial, either. Alarmed, he stumbles out of bed and around the room, barely able to stand, but determined to find his weapons nevertheless. If he doesn't have them, he'll be defenseless, vulnerable, easy to kill—

The mere effort of standing is making his breathing harsh, and he looks forward to sitting down. The only useful item he finds is a box filled with strange tools, one of which is a short, but sharp, knife. He grabs the blade up in one hand and sags against the nearest wall. As soon as he gets his breath back, he thinks, he'll—

His support falls away and belatedly he realizes what he has leaned on is the door.

_Stupid move! Stupid!_

Panic flushes his body with new energy. He stumbles back intentionally then pivots, plunging the knife into whatever is behind him. The thing gives a choked cry. From somewhere else there is a high scream. He slams the other elbow back, twisting the knife as he whips it out of his target in a sweeping side cut. There is a thud. He whirls around fully and points his weapon at the thing that fell.

A long blade is at his throat. He freezes as suddenly as he moved

"Drop it." The command is dark and low, coming from a muscled man off to the side. He is holding the blade at to the once-slave's throat. Two more hang from his belt.

"Zoro…m'alright." The person the once-slave stabbed waves a hand, the other pressed against his side.

With the sword at his throat the once-slave doesn't dare to move as the stabbed one gets to his feet, but his eyes sweep boy's appearance. After a beat he connects _this_ person with _that_ boy and stiffens even more.

He just—just—

The knife clatters to the floor.

"Back up," says the man with the sword.

"Zoro—"

"_Back up,_" the man insists over the boy's—no, _Luffy's_—voice. He hasn't taken his gaze off the once-slave for a moment.

"Zoro! You back up!" Luffy says, his voice raised and his face angry. "I'll be fine. You're scaring Usopp!"

_Who's Usopp?_

He doesn't dare look around to see who else is standing nearby, he simply backs up until he's inside the doorway again. His legs give out, but he keeps his eyes on the swordsman, who has returned the blade to the empty sheathe. The swordsman gives the once-slave an almost…concerned frown, which doesn't make sense, but he certainly isn't looking at Luffy. The expression cools to impassivity after that and the swordsman turns away.

The stuffed animal is back, fretting over Luffy's wound—_it can talk_, he notes dimly—but Luffy waves the creature aside and comes forward to stand in front of him. Luffy stares down with neither pleasure nor displeasure. It's that _waiting_ again, he realizes, a waiting that is judging and expectant all at once. Luffy begins to lift a hand.

He cringes away, anticipating a blow, jolting when he feels the hand rest lightly on his head. It rubs a little, comforting, no hint of possible violence. "S'okay, Usopp," says Luffy. "I know you're just scared. But I told you, you don't have to be. We're gonna take care of you now," steely determination hardens Luffy's tone. "We're not gonna fail you again."

When it seems Luffy's hand might lift away, he grabs onto the boy's arm, willing him to stay. Something is breaking in his throat and he is shaking, steadied only by the arm. "S-s-sorry," he says, then sniffles back the liquid suddenly clogging his nose.

Luffy has not gotten angry, has not hurt him, even though he hurt Luffy. Where he doubted the boy before, he trusts him completely now, believing it when Luffy says he's going to protect him.

Luffy doesn't say anything. Instead he extracts his arm, then wraps it under the once-slave's arms, helping him up and back to the bed. A movement at the doorway draws his attention to the fact that the "stuffed animal" is attempting to hide behind the open door and peak at the going-ons at the same time.

Luffy grins, then motions the creature over. The creature points at himself, swallowing.

"C'mon, Chopper!" Luffy urges.

Straightening the large pink top hat he's wearing, the creature steels himself and clops over. The once-slave finds himself staring at the hooves.

"Usopp, this is Chopper," says Luffy, urging Chopper forward a little. The creature only meets the once-slave's eyes for a moment. "Chopper's our doctor and he's the one who's fixed you up. He's really good and has an ultra-cool blue nose."

"Idiot! Flattery for my nose isn't going to get you anywhere!" says Chopper, tone angry, though a grin is splitting his face and he's doing a small dance in place.

The once-slave stares, wondering if the nose has some sort of secret power that makes it worth mentioning.

"So," Luffy says, "If Chopper asks you to do something, don't fight him, because he's just doing it to help you get better. Okay?"

"Please don't hurt me," adds Chopper, holding his hand-hooves up prayerfully

Chopper is a short little thing and his voice sounds young. He can only imagine how frightening his sudden attack must have been, so he nods, dropping his head and murmuring another sorry. There is an odd silence.

"Nya, Usopp—" begins Luffy, scratching under his hat.

He looks around the room, and is puzzled by the apparent lack of anyone who could be called "Usopp."

"Who?"

"—N?" Luffy says, breaking off whatever he was going to say. "'Who?' what?"

He's not sure if it's a question he should be asking, as Luffy is giving him a puzzled look and Chopper is giving him a contemplative one. "Er—I mean—who—uh—"

Luffy nods, now looking interested in the question, so the once-slave continues. "Uh, who is Usopp?"

Luffy blinks at him a moment before answering, as if the question doesn't make sense. "Usopp…isn't that you?"

* * *

Well here is the not promised, but it happened, possibly to be continued, continuation.

Again, I don't promise anything—personally, I like the first chapter as a standalone, as much as might I like the idea of a continuation. The moods of these two chapters are not the same. But you all were so encouraging. There are some other scenes from this scenario I've got stuck in my head anyway. Hopefully I can get them out, and in the process, elaborate on the fight to bring the jokester back to himself in the end. :)

Personal fave part of this chapter is the Nami half. I feel the second part of isn't as cohesive. Thoughts? CC welcome.


	3. Distance & Horizons

**The Psychology of a Shattered Mind****  
**by Liashi  
3: Distance & Horizons

___Usopp realizes belatedly that he has done a lot of stupid things in his lifetime, but this probably takes the cake, the plate the cake is sitting on, and a little of the table, too. If only log poses didn't set so quickly and the place hadn't been filled with so many man-eating plants that boats didn't stay for more than half an hour, he might have actually bothered to examine the people he was approaching. He was too happy to catch a ship anchored at the shore at all that he hadn't given much thought to what kind of people they could be._

___"Crap crap crap crap crap…"_

___Yes, he should have known better than to waltz right down into the arms of slave traders—especially after everything he has seen at Sabaody, and double especially when he doesn't have any strong-armed swordsmen, smart-mouthed cooks, or stretchy straw hat-wearers to back his daring escapades up. He should have stayed fat and feasting at the interior, not gone looking for a way out of this place.  
_

___Where are those eight thousand loyal followers when he needs them? This is going to require a stern lecture when they show back up…_

___He lets out a soft _eep___—__which is entirely unrelated to being hauled up the side of a ship by his overall straps, _of course___—__and struggles a little in the air. His captors get him on deck and begin marching him across it towards an ominous-looking door. The wheels in his head are whirring, trying to think up a plan, an idea, an _anything_ that might get him out of this mess before he ends up clapped in irons with a bunch of other woebegone captives below deck._

___He concludes that unless some of the people he has met living on the island suddenly leap to his rescue, he is doomed. He had yelled loud enough on shore when the ship's landfall group had made their ill-intentions obvious. His new found companions on this island are probably too far away to have heard him._

___He supposes the Great Captain Usopp will find the generosity in his heart to forgive the natives for failing to come in his hour of need._

___His eight thousand followers, however, will have some explaining to do…_

* * *

__

Robin thinks that whatever island they arrive at next, the first thing she should do is pick up some sort of psychology related texts. Perhaps what will be easiest to find will be volumes put out by the WG on marine battle-fatigue, though she doubts such volumes' actual usefulness. Based on their combined understandings of Usopp's situation, which is limited since they were more interested in getting him out of Mariejoa than interviewing random passerby on why he was locked up in a cavern full of bodies, she fears a slow recovery—if there even is one. Chopper is not a doctor of psychological injuries, and it is obvious enough to her that, somewhere along the line, the sniper's usual way of dealing with traumatic situations has failed him utterly.

Not that, by her estimations, it would have been survived all that much better by anyone else on their crew, except Zoro or Luffy. Perhaps Franky, Nami, Sanji or herself would have managed better overall, but Usopp… Chopper, too, she doubts…

Her eyes have not skimmed a word of the book in her hands in the last fifteen minutes, so she closes it with a sigh and sets it aside. Her interest is lost for the moment. She will pick it up again later. Shifting in the lawn chair, she turns her gaze to the ocean above.

Though she will not admit it aloud, being under ten thousand meters of water is very unnerving to her as a Devil Fruit user. It's almost as distracting as the issues with Usopp, so it's really no wonder she can't get any reading done.

"Robin-chwan, would you care to sample a few of these delicate pastries made with the pure sweetness of my adoration?" Sanji's voice interrupts her musings and she finds a plate of delicate pastry puffs, drizzled with what looks like chocolate sauce, before her. She is unable to help the smile that creeps over her face at Sanji's latest grandiose confession of love as she selects two from the plate. Truly, his words are sometimes more inventive than his drinks and desserts—although he would probably take that statement as a put-down and not a compliment.

She samples one immediately, since he is waiting with an eager expression, and gives him an ever so slightly widened version of her earlier smile, although she doesn't quite feel it. "As delicious as ever, thank you," she says.

She feels badly for him after what happened this morning.

Sanji straightens with a grin and makes, Robin assumes, to move on to Nami, but then, he hesitates. "Robin-chan, might I inquire of you…?"

She tips her head. "Yes?"

Sanji's grip on the tray is shifting. "How is Usopp?"

She takes a moment to fully focus her attention on the image that she had relegated to the back of her mind: the one coming from the eyes she has bloomed on one wall of the sick bay. "Asleep," she says. "I believe that returning to the stronger dose of painkillers did the trick."

"That's good," says Sanji, and his shoulders sag a little, though he still shifts in an ill-at-ease manner. However, he brightens and continues, "I'll just bring these over to Nami-swan then. Would you like another cup of coffee once I'm done with that?"

How he knows she has finished it when he hasn't looked down or even come from an angle where his approach would have revealed this is a mystery; but, she suspects he knows her habits well enough that all he has to do is look at a clock. "That would be wonderful." She hands over the empty mug and relaxes as Sanji spins off, all cheer and hearts again as he calls out for Nami.

It will be impossible to return her attentions to her book for the next half-hour after being asked about Usopp. Her eyes in the sick bay watch carefully as he stirs a little, then settles. She wants no repeats of this morning, when Sanji had walked in on an Usopp so worked up that they could hardly get out of him what was wrong. It had turned out to be part panic attack, part arm and leg pain, as Chopped had re-broken the poorly set limbs a few days before.

Perhaps, Robin thinks, more panic attack than pain. Sanji had been the first one to walk through the sick bay that morning, so when he went in and came back out yelling for Chopper not a minute later Robin had been startled enough to accidentally drop her book and loose her place. She has rarely heard Sanji sounding as distressed as he did at that moment. Rousing Chopper with an arm, she herself came to see what was wrong. Sanji was gripping Usopp's forearms, trying to get an answer from him about what was wrong—_any_ answer—but the sniper could only shudder in Sanji's grasp. Usopp's jaw was flexing repeatedly, as if trying to force out a sound, but his eyes stared straight ahead, past everything to something only he could see. Usopp cried and shook himself to utter exhaustion, eventually falling back asleep, helped along by mix of a stronger painkiller and a sedative.

After that the whole ship was wide awake, and what would otherwise have been another quiet morning turned into one of confused activity, everyone's nerves on the short side.

She wonders, if this is Usopp's reaction to nothing, how he will react to the _Sunny_ being attacked.

Robin hasn't brought it up yet, but since this morning she has been thinking it might be best to ask Hachi if the fish-folk know a way to take Usopp back to Syrup Village. She remembers hearing that the girl from Usopp's home village who gave them the _Going Merry_ took up doctoring. A girl he knows—or once knew—and a quiet, stable life will be the best medicine for this situation.

Or so she thinks.

Luffy will not like the idea. _None_ of the others will like the idea, at least not at first. In her heart, even she would rather give Usopp more time.

This is something they all will have to agree on, however. If she doesn't at least suggest this idea soon, it will be too late for them to even consider it. Luffy will take convincing even if the rest of the crew is in favor. So, she decides, she will mention the idea. Today.

She is silent throughout dinner, unable to help being more grave than usual. She has no smiles for Luffy's antics. If anyone notices, they don't comment.

Dinner is almost over when she finds a suitable pause, in between the moment when Luffy gets his token smack for stealing the last piece of food—off of Zoro's plate, today—and Sanji begins clearing the dishes.

"There is something I believe this crew needs to discuss," Robin says. Most of their eyes hold mild surprise, almost curiosity, as they turn their attention to her. She continues. "That is what to do about Usopp."

The curiosity fades to clouded wariness in Zoro, seriousness in Nami, worry in Chopper, and confusion in Luffy. Brook remains expressionless, and a skull joke about that would be appropriately interjected here if he were the one speaking. Franky is not here, and although she would rather include him in the discussion, since someone will be staying with Usopp for the foreseeable future, twenty-four-seven, there is no better time than this anyway. Sanji, with a bitter smirk he tries to hide behind his long flop of hair by turning away, rises and begins taking up the dishes.

"What's your concern, Robin-chan?" he prompts quietly.

Robin pauses to look everyone in the eye before beginning. "After…this morning…I have been thinking about Usopp a great deal. I propose that it would be best for him if we found a way to send him back to his hometown in the East Blue."

Sounds of disbelief come from everyone—except Sanji and Zoro, with Nami's gasp being more like a sharp intake of breath than anything else.

"Are you serious?" Chopper splutters.

Luffy's stare is intense, but not as angry as she expected it to be. "_Eh?_ Are you saying we should go back to Syrup Village until he's better?"

She sighs. _That's_ why. "What I mean is that he should go back, but not with us. He should return to life in the village where he came from. He—" she struggles to put it into words that Luffy will understand. "—his _heart_ is injured. The Grand Line, with its grave and unpredictable dangers, is no place for someone with this type of hurt. Plainly put, he is sick, and it is an illness that not even Chopper can heal. Only time and peace will achieve that."

"She's right, Luffy," Sanji says. "Usopp's not up to this journey anymore. A guy in his condition can't handle the Grand Line."

Luffy's eyes widen as he looks up at the cook, who returns the gaze with one of his own, expression perfectly serious. Their captain whirls to address Chopper. "That's ridiculous. Of course you can fix him, right? You can make anyone better. Tell them!"

The reindeer's gaze falls to the empty spot at his place at the table. "Actually…actually, it's true…I'm not a doctor of mental injury. Robin's right. I don't really know how to help Usopp there. I can fix his body, but I can only try to fix his mind. So sending him back home…" Chopper's gaze snaps back up. "Luffy, it probably would be the best thing for him."

"The fish-folk may know a way to take him through the Calm Belts and out to the East Blue with relatively little danger, via underwater currents." Robin glances at Nami, who has her elbows on the table, chin resting on her hands. The other woman seems to have gotten over any initial surprise and is watching Robin with a thoughtful frown. "As I understand, the they may have done so before. If we ask, they may still be willing to help. Hachi, Camie, and Pappug will speak for us."

Luffy's confused frown has grown deeper. His voice has lost its lightness. "So you're saying…we should send Usopp home? We should forget about his ambitions and friendship and send him away, just because he's sick?"

She needs to be gentle here with their captain, so very gentle and careful. He is not the type of person who will do things he perceives as giving up, so she softens her tone, forcing her sincerity to the surface, where she hopes it shines through in her gaze. "I do not wish to forget anything about him. I only want to do what is best for him. I want him to get better, but I do not think he can do it here."

Nami's brow creases. "Luffy…we should consider it."

"_Eh!_ Not you too, Nami!"

Luffy doesn't look angry. He looks betrayed. Rising, he slams his hands down on the table. "No! Usopp's staying here, and that's _captain's orders_."

Zoro's sigh is exasperated. He slouches down even more, putting his hands behind his head and looking ready to nod off. "Orders are orders. You guys should give this up."

"Who asked you?" Nami growls.

"Yeah, do what the lady says and shut up. No one wants your opinion," Sanji says.

Nami hits Zoro on the head before he can even begin a retort.

"Luffy, _please_, listen with an open mind—"

Luffy sticks his fingers in his ears, glaring. He stomps a foot. "No, everyone listen to _me_. Usopp's not going back to Syrup Village unless he wants to. He's our friend. I don't understand what happened to him in that city. But I don't care. In that place, he was alone. I won't let him be hurt by that happening again. We can't send him to people that are strangers. Not when he needs his friends." He looks to Robin. "Why aren't we enough now when we've always been enough before?"

Enies Lobby rises in her thoughts for a reason she can't immediately put a finger on. She sees Usopp—all of them—standing on that wall. They've come through impossibilities to get to her, and they'll go through any others they have to. Usopp appearance is mysterious and dangerous. Even if he claims it's not him, but _Sogeking_, Robin knows better. He chased her far, even when she didn't want it.

He wasn't even a Strawhat then, either. He didn't owe her any loyalty. Still, for her sake, he came, without hesitation, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

She sighs. "I simply…want him to be somewhere safe. I want him to get better."

"I think we all do," Sanji says, quiet. She is a little surprised he doesn't continue to argue the issue with Luffy—the worry is still clear in his eyes. There is a sense of understanding there too, however, and she wonders if his thoughts have fallen in the same direction as hers.

"A reasonable compromise, then, Luffy?" she says. "Ask him what he wants."

"As if he even knows what's good for him right now—" Nami begins, clamping her mouth shut only at Robin's pleading look.

Luffy's brow furrows, but one side is a little lifted with puzzlement, as if there might be some sort of trick to this suggestion even if he can't see it. "I guess—" he says, scratching his nose, "—it wouldn't be fair if he did _want_ to go back."

* * *

"Uuuu-ssopp-p-u."

He steals another glance at the muscled man with the metal nose and blue hair, but the man—Franky, he said, didn't he?—continues to snore, much to his relief. Franky is supposed to be making sure he finishes his broth, which tastes faintly of vitamins and something bitter, but the large man fell asleep not too soon after their conversation flagged. That's fine, since they don't have much to talk about, nor does he have much to say. It makes him nervous when he has to struggle to answer a constant stream of queries he's not sure of the proper answers to, since Franky seems to expect they will begin a conversation about strange technological mumbo-jumbo. It's like he's suppose to know about it or something. He can't understand what Franky's topics could have been prompted by.

"U-soooo-pp."

No, he doesn't mind that Franky sleeps. This gives him a moment to try his name on for size, to let it roll off of his tongue without anyone listening, even if he's barely loud enough to call this a whisper.

"Usopp."

It's what Luffy—what everyone on the ship—says is his name, anyway.

"_Captain_ Usopp."

He is silent for a long moment, taking another spoonful of broth as he ponders the weight of _captain_ in front of his name. His lips quirk up ever so slightly and he shakes his head. It doesn't fit. Not quite.

Usopp—and just Usopp—is a pretty good name. It's neither boring nor ridiculous. His rescuers seem to like it and he doesn't have any other suggestions. Not that the name itself rings of any meaning to him, but—

"I'm Usopp," he says to the far wall with a sense of finality. He is a little loud, so he glances over at Franky again, who still doesn't stir. It's not as if the larger man really needs to be awake to make him worry about strange conversations—or about finishing his food like he's supposed to. Everything about Franky's upper body is huge—he's afraid to do anything that will make this guy mad. So he lifts the bowl, draining it in on last go, then sets it aside. Franky stays asleep, and everything is quiet.

This, he doesn't mind. He lies back against the pillows.

The door leading to the galley flies open and slams against the wall. Franky tumbles to the floor, breaking off mid-snore. Everything rattles, including Usopp's stomach. He might loose the broth he has downed. The blood is pounding in his shocked mind in great throbs, drowning out the peace that had perched there moments before. That peace was contingent on the quiet, contingent on Franky staying asleep—

Franky is dazed, but now also very much awake. "Luffy? What's with the noise? What's wrong?"

Luffy marches into the room with a frown that, coupled with the wide, staring eyes, makes it look like the skinny boy is bracing himself for something. Usopp tenses, trying to see beyond the doorway Luffy entered from. His hands are grabbing for a blade again, and in order to keep from panicking when he doesn't find one—_he needs one no he doesn't don't freak, don't freak—_he has to tighten his hands around blankets hard enough that they hurt.

Luffy marches up to the bedside without explanation to the spluttering Franky. "Usopp," he says, "Do you want to go back to Syrup Village?"

_Where?_ is his first thought, before it is hushed by a tickle of memory.

_She is pale and skinny in the dark, soft eyes sharpened by panic. He tries not to think about Kaya as he edges the weapon in his hands a little closer to target. She doesn't see him yet, lying still as he is among other bodies. __He tightens his finger on the trigger. He's counting on making this as quiet and clean as possible. He doesn't want repeats of last time__, doesn't want to watch another person's life fade as they curse him and he stands by too scared to either speed up the process or to try to stop it. He's sick thinking about it, and he'll turn the gun on himself if that happens again—_

He is distantly aware that he has a hand pressed to his mouth to muffle his choked sobbing, distantly aware of Luffy's and Franky's shocked looks, distantly aware of the others crowded in the doorway. He curls over on himself, swallowing back acid and trying to breathe over a body that is shaking too badly to control.

He should stop. He needs to stop, needs to be calm and remain aware of his surroundings.

_She looked like Kaya__—_

The doctor is digging into his medicines now, readying something he hopes is a sedative. He doesn't want to feel the rushing in his head or the tightness in his chest. He doesn't want to be fighting back bile as his hand grows sticky with tears. Luffy sits on the edge of the bed and wraps his arms around him. He tries to pull away, but Luffy only tightens his grip.

"If you don't wanna go," Luffy murmurs, "Just say so."

Luffy, he knows, has promised to protect him. Maybe he should want to go to this place—maybe it's safer, he doesn't know—but that name makes him think of _Kaya_, and he can't, he simply can't—

He can't go back there.

Chopper comes up with a cup of something he has mixed up, but Luffy holds up a hand. "Wait."

He can trust Luffy; he knows he can.

"Dun wanna go." He buries his face as best he can on Luffy's shoulder and swallows, queasiness taking over panic.

He wants to stay here.


	4. Landfall

**The Psychology of a Shattered Mind****  
**by Liashi  
4: Landfall

_The Great Captain Usopp has been captured by his most hated enemies, the Smelly Hairy Armpit Slavers, for two weeks now, but he has not given up hope. Instead, he has concocted approximately four thousand, six hundred and thirty-one _brilliant_ plans for escape, of which he has attempted to execute the best two._

_Both of these have failed, one through sheer bad luck, the other through both bad luck and the fact that the boat was in the middle of the ocean…and that a few members of the crew were better swimmers than he gave them credit for._

_It was after plan number two, the one ruined by only bad luck, that that they brought an exploding collar and put it on him—the only reason, of course, that he hasn't attempted a third time, even if all his plans are brilliant. Those, and a couple of good kicks to the gut, are…persuasive._

_That doesn't mean he's stopped planning. It simply makes things a lot more complicated, because now, in addition to escaping without getting caught a third time, he also has to get the key back or figure out how to take the exploding collar off. He really wants to keep his head._

_He wishes he was Nami, who could probably figure it out given the time. Or, even better, Rayleigh, who already knows. He wonders how everyone is doing, if they've gotten back to the _Thousand Sunny_, if they've run into any trouble as bad as this. Maybe they've already learned of his plight, and even as he sits here they're coming, steaming mad and ready punch some evil slaver pirate lights out!_

_Hope springs eternal…_

_The situation is not exactly pleasant. There's nothing in the way of bathrooms other than a hole in one corner, so personal hygiene is quickly out the window whether anyone likes it or not. He swears he'll never complain about how long anyone takes in the bathroom again, so long as there actually is one. That, and the silence covered by the sad creaking of the ship, is disheartening and isolating. Most of the people in the hold don't even look at him, not after his first escape attempt. No one talks, but the captors are in and out more often than they were at the beginning and especially suspicious of Usopp, so he can understand if no one feels like taking the risk now more than ever._

_He tries to think of ways he can help everyone escape along with him. No one deserves this._

_Maybe…maybe his best chance for escape will come at the auction block…or wherever they're going. Maybe everyone will show up and bust the auction a new one. Maybe he'll get sold off to someone nice. As some kind of…indoor entertainer, or household servant…or something. It's not like they know he's actually a pirate, thank the stars above. He's not anything special to speak of. He doesn't have muscle, a sexy body or a mysterious power._

_And now, he's glad for that. Heh. First time for everything._

_He starts working on ideas for when they get where they're going. If he's being taken back to Sabaody, he only has to get away. Getting back to the _Thousand Sunny_ will keep him safe. Some of the other must have made it back by now, too. Once he gets to them, this'll become his most daring story of adventure…he can see Chopper and Luffy's shocked faces already as he tells them all about these Smelly Hairy Armpit Slavers and their dastardly ways..._

_

* * *

_

_He's awoken from a doze by the sense that the boat has stopped, and by the fact that the air in the hold has taken on a nervous, tangy quality. There is fear on many of the surrounding faces now, rather than the unresponsive masks of the previous weeks. Under heavily armed guard, they're all hustled up into the sunlight, blinking._

_He looks for the shimmering, iridescent bubbles of Sabaody and feels his hope falter when he doesn't recognize the place. There are no bubbles, and not nearly enough trees._

_The gang will find him anyway. Moving location won't help these guys when Luffy figures them out!_

_For the first time in two weeks he and a shower head spurting water are face-to-face. He never imagined he'd be so glad even when it's cold. There's soap too. He could kiss it despite the nasty taste. He is not presented with his old clothes upon finishing. Instead, what the attending slaver shoves into his hands is something in pure blues and greens that appears to be a bodysuit. Usopp looks at it, repulsed, then looks at the slaver…then it…then slaver…it…slaver…_

_"Put it on already and don't ask questions! You don't have a say here!" The slaver shoves a rifle into his chest._

_He jumps back a little. "Haha, whe-when you put it that way, y'know, I really wanna wear this thing!" he stammers, then hurries into the strange piece of clothing._

_Next he is handed a grass skirt dyed in blue, along with smaller "mini-skirts" to go on his wrists and ankles. By this point he is beginning to understand what the slavers are thinking, and groans inwardly._

They're gonna make me out to be an exotic island native? Jeez…

_The final addition to the outfit is a painted mask that looks like something out of a bad voodoo show. It reminds him vaguely of what Sogeking wears, except with more green, more tribal-ness, and a lot less cool factor._

Gotta be kidding me.

_He's so appalled by the whole get-up that he can't keep from running off at the mouth. "You really think anyone's gonna believe this?" he says to the slaver, who is looking him up and down with a critical eye._

_The slaver gives him an icy glare, which seems to be the only expression available to these guys, but it still sends his knees quaking. The man grunts. "They will if you shut up and do what you're told."_

_Thinking of the exploding collar and the guns—practical thoughts, of course, very practical—he grins nervously behind the mask. "Heh, w-well then, just call me, uh, Booga-shaka, the mysterious native f-from the f-f-forest of Man Eating Plants!"_

_He means this as a joke, even strikes a goofy pose, but the slaver doesn't seem very amused. "Let's go, Mr. Island Native," he says, giving Usopp a shove with the rifle._

_

* * *

_

_Sweat has already soaked into the underside of the mask and made his face itchy as the auction gets underway. He's still thinking overtime about how to get away but is not seeing very many options._

_Usopp reminds himself that even if they've tried to make him exotic, he's still not nearly as interesting as some of the pirates they've also got on the block. There's someone who's got his very own wanted poster with a bounty of about twenty thousand; he's short and stout and hopping mad, yelling—until they gag him—about how the three crews he commands are going to rip the slavers to pieces when they get here. There are a number of strong men with large bodies and plenty of muscle—one of them looks like he put up a heck of a fight, even if it was a loosing one. There are also a couple of downcast girls, all dressed like the sex objects they'll probably be sold as. All in all, only some of the people who were on the boat are here now, mixed in with others he doesn't recognize. He tries not to let his imagination run too wild with what might have happened to those not here._

_He's hoping, hoping, hoping that his crew will show up. He's gonna be a _slave_ if someone doesn't do _something_._

_Thinking too much about that is making him really twitchy, so he starts looking around again for any escape possibilities, even the slimmest ones. One of the girls on the block still holds her chin up, and for a moment their gazes meet. There's lightning in her eyes, a determination that makes him straighten his spine and lift his own chin, jolting him out of his panic. He'll go home the second he gets out of this situation if he lets himself be out prided by a non-warrior._

_When she realizes he's looking at her she blinks, then smirks crookedly, nodding. The look in her eyes tells him that she understands—that this is scary, that events are out of their control and it's hard to hold one's head high in all this—but she understands a little of pride and dignity and won't yet let those things be taken away. He shouldn't, either._

_They'll probably be sold off to different people and never see each other again, but for this one brief moment in time, he doesn't feel so alone._

_

* * *

The girl he met eyes with is gone sometime before the slavers come to bring him out to the block. He keeps his chin up, but since he's a firm believer in the fact that discretion is the better part of valor, he tries not to be too confrontational about it._

_Although the decorations of the auction stage are less classy than the ones at Sabaody and the room seems smaller overall, it's hard to see the audience with all the light that's shining at him. He ponders at the sick nervousness that's making his legs tremble and tries not to think about whether this is how Camie felt. Setting his feet wide, he swallows and hopes he looks…boring._

_"And now, ladies and gentlemen," says the auctioneer in a booming voice—_do all these kinds of guys sound the _same_?_ "We have a rare treat today: a native straight from forest of man eating plants. The proud warrior—Booga-shaka!"_

_He almost falls over. _Really? Seriously?_  
_

_"We'll start with a base price of six hundred thousand berries for this man from the rarely seen natives of the Bowin Islands. Do I have any opening offers?"_

_Usopp's stomach does a flip. He can see only a little motion in the audience because of the light shining into his face—is that a paddle going up?_

_"Thank you, customer twenty four," says the auctioneer, and his heart starts skipping beats. "Minimum increases of one thousand berries, please. Remember—this exotic man comes from the dangerous forest of Glinston!"_

_The silence is long, although faint murmuring has risen up at the mention of Glinston. His skin crawling with nervous sweat, he watches the dark form of the audience, hoping to catch someone going flying with a rubbery fist in their face._

_More movement, and a voice calls out. "Six hundred ten berries for the mysterious native."_

_"Six hundred fifteen," cries another._

Look boring, boring, boring…_where are you guys?_

_"He looks interesting. Six hundred thirty!"_

_"Thank you number fifty six. Do we have anyone else wishing to raise this lady?"_

_Another silence, then—_

_"One million berries!"_

One—!

_"Ah—ah-hem. Well. Well, well. What a pleasure," the auctioneer stutters. "A bid from the noble Saint Gathram—"_

_"No! I made the bid. I, Saint Iddis!" says a high, sharp voice._

_He thinks he might be about to faint, because the world is getting dark and spinning at the edges. _One million? _Saint_ Gathram? _Saint_ Iddis? _He can only stand numb as words and implications echo around him. Absolutely the one thing that should not happen—the absolute worst thing that could happen, is—_

_"Saint Iddis?" the auctioneer's tone is cowering, ameliorating. "Forgive the mistake, my good lord. I-I would not have imagined one of your tastes to take interest in…such merchandise… Very well then! One…" the auctioneer seems to be choking on the word, "…one _million_ berries for the Bowin Island man, Booga-shaka."_

_

* * *

_

He leans on the crutch and, eyes closed, lets the cool breeze rake over his face and through his tangled hair. The sky is gray but the sea under it retains a striking, almost defiant, shade of blue. Nami the navigator is a little worried about the clouds, but she says she will let them know in plenty of time if anything dangerous is coming their way. Due to the coldness of the breeze, she also comments that she won't be surprised if they are coming upon another winter island.

After reporting the weather, she asks him with a grin if he would be glad to play in some snow, in these first few days he's allowed back on his feet and out on deck.

To this, he can only shrug and mumble, since he knows what snow is, but doesn't recall ever having played in it. He thinks this might have been the wrong response—he must have enjoyed snow at one time—because the normally snappy woman walks away from him without reply, shoulders set and fists clenched.

After that she beats up the cook Sanji. Usopp is under the impression, based on what he's overheard, that it was simply for looking at her. A little afraid at this point, he moves as far away from her last known location as he can get while still being on the lower deck.

It's not his fault he can't remember. There was this Devil Fruit user or something, who used his power to "wipe useful memories clean," as it was put to him at the time. He does remember that much, if only fuzzily.

After he told them that, this gang of pirates explained to him that he was a member of their crew, that was why they came to rescue him, and was he _sure_ he didn't recognize who any of them were?

He feels ashamed at being the cause of the disappointment in their faces because he had to say that, no, he didn't—not unless they had already introduced themselves. He can't say what part of the world they are from, or when he first met them, or what kind of person any of them are.

It might be true that he once knew them. There is a funny tickle in the back of his mind sometimes when they say something, or when he looks at one of them. He might have known them, before—

He tightens his grip on the crutch and forces himself to open his eyes, even with the breeze blowing.

"Oi, you okay bro? You shouldn't be standing out here so long."

Usopp looks back, and in a matter of seconds Franky has a lounge chair assembled, complete with a special leg rest and side table. Usopp blinks at him and the new chair, after glancing down at the crutch. "Another miracle one-second build," he mutters to himself.

Franky grins. Jutting out one hip, he sticks a hand in the air. "That's because I'm _supah_!"

Usopp gets the impression of an explosion and streamers going off behind Franky. He blinks again and then plops down onto the chair, propping the crutch up against it. It is true that his legs were beginning to get tired. Leaning back, he looks out to the sea again. Franky's strange, and even if the man's helpful Usopp really doesn't want to get into another question and answer session about things he doesn't remember.

Franky's energy seems to disperse, and he drops his pose. He tips up his sunglasses to look down at him. "Well, if you need anything else handy assembled…just call me. Alright, Usopp?"

"Uh, sure," Usopp says.

The cyborg walks away after that, looking a little deflated. Usopp forces himself to keep looking at the sea, his face into the breeze. After a moment he wipes at the moisture that's collected in the corners of his eyes thanks to the chill wind.

He's been staring out to sea for a while longer when someone throws a blanket over him. He's surprised to find a stern Chopper standing with one hoof still grasping the cloth. "You shouldn't be out in the cold, but as long as you've got this, you'll be fine. Don't stay out here past dark."

"O-okay."

Chopper nods at the response and then leaves. As Usopp adjusts the blanket, he realizes he's shivering, although they fade once he's wrapped up well enough. His thoughts wander. After a while he's staring out at the sea, but not really looking at it.

"Are you bored? I brought you your sketch pad and pencils," offers a soft, almost dazed sounding voice. Seeing the skeleton Brook standing beside him, he nearly tumbles off the chair. He has to chant inwardly _it's all because of the Devil's Fruit, it's all because of the Devil's Fruit…_ to keep himself from running away screaming.

"N-n-no-t-t-t r-r-real-l-ly," he says, stuttering so badly it's a wonder the skeleton can even understand.

"Ah. Very well. Perhaps I shall simply leave them here, just in case," Brook says, setting the pad and pencils down on the side table. It's impossible to tell if Brook is disappointed by being turned down, because Usopp keeps his eyes on the flat line where sky meets sea while Brook withdraws. Once the skeleton has gone and he feels a little more at ease, he picks the pad up, staring down at the white page.

He almost takes up the pencil and touches it to the paper, simply to see where such an action would take him, to see if he's really as good at drawing as they all claim he is. But, after a moment, he puts the pencil aside and flips to the front of the pad instead.

There's a sketch of Luffy and a sleeping Zoro, Luffy grinning like mad as he takes a marker to the swordsman's face. It's a funny picture but he flips by it quickly, nervous about looking at such an image. The swordsman is not someone he feels a lot of trust for yet. There's a very dangerous air about the man, and Usopp simply can't trust someone he believes could cut him down in a second if he got the notion. And Zoro might, since Usopp—that one time with Luffy—

He forces himself to concentrate on the next page.

"Usopp, it's kinda chilly out here. I'm gonna—"

The pad goes flying; he nearly falls off the chair trying to catch it and press it against his chest.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you," Sanji says, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm gonna make some hot cocoa for the ladies. You want some?"

He's starting to see a pattern. Closing the sketch pad and tucking it atop his cast, he turns away so that Sanji can't see his eyes watering. He doesn't remember the last time anyone did so much for him—

"No, that's fine…I'm gonna go inside," he mumbles. Gathering the blanket that Chopper gave him around his shoulders, he reaches for the crutch that Franky made. Sanji jumps to put into his hand. Usopp keeps his head down and hobbles to the stairs as quickly as possible. The tears are turning hot and he doesn't want Sanji to see.

Getting up the stairs, however, is another, more awkward matter. Trying to maneuver the leg in a cast throws off his balance. Tipping backward, his one free arm pinwheeling, his panic spikes when firm hands halt his backwards lean.

"Let's not kill ourselves on the stairs, hm?" Sanji says. He pulls Usopp's arm across his shoulders and half pulls, half supports him the rest of the trip up.

Usopp can't look at Sanji for fear he'll start bawling and fold on the spot. However, if the cook notices the tears and sniffling, he doesn't comment.

* * *

Yes, L.E. This is indeed abuse. Shameless abuse. I told you to abuse it, it's only fair I do to, right? XD (Cough.) ...Inside joke of sorts. Hehe.

I already mentioned this to L.E. as well, but I plan to start slowing down on the writing pace of the chapters due to having two senior projects which I desperately need to pay more attention to...this chapter is my pre-slowdown special exception, because I was totally feeling inspired on the first half... when it comes to the back story, I'm just getting warmed up.

And in case anyone was wondering, the girl he met eyes with in this chapter and the one in the short flashback from last chapter are not the same. Just thought I'd clear that up now.

You can help feed my review addiction by...reviewing. Crit, comments, questions, error corrections all welcome. I'd love to hear from you. Even just...two words XD I'll even take _one_ if pressed.


	5. Buoy

**The Psychology of a Shattered Mind  
**by Liashi  
5: Buoy

Franky can't take more than half-steps unless he wants to overtake the sniper hobbling along ahead of him. At the beginning of the ship tour—crap, he's angry all over again just at the thought that Usopp needs one!—he'd had a hand on Usopp's shoulder to guide him around. He soon realized, however, that even this small contact made him very tense, and so has dropped his hand in favor of verbal prompts—"turn right here," "yeah, go on ahead and open the door," "it's the ladies' quarters, I'm sure it'll be fine just this once since we're on a tour…."

Usopp's not such a wreck to look at now. Even from the back it's easy to tell. A lot of the bandages have come off, though the casts haven't. His excessive boniness is also starting to smooth out, thanks to the joint plotting of Chopper and Sanji, who seem to have made it their personal life goals to fatten the kid up. Usopp always has been more of a string bean than a marshmallow, but there is a surprisingly big difference between a healthy look and one where you can count every bone.

Needless to say, Luffy hasn't tried to eat food slated to be Usopp's since that one attempt two days ago, and their captain doesn't seem inclined to try again any time soon. Franky grins at the memory of theincident. Sanji he might have expected, but he didn't know Chopper had _that_ much scary in him.

Usopp's shown a mild curiosity at nearly everything, brightening particularly at the Aquarium Bar and the bath. This curiosity pleases Franky immensely. He'll take almost anything over that silent, blank stare out at the sea that Usopp seems to prefer. It scares the cyborg, because what should be in those eyes is a creative gleam and a troublemaker's grin.

That's why Franky's saved the best—the most important—for last.

Usopp glances back as they reemerge from Channel 4.

"Yep, that door, right down that hall," Franky confirms, unable to help splitting a grin. "That'll be our last stop."

Usopp proceeds to swing the door open without stepping inside. He pokes his head into the room first, looking about, body tensed. For what, Franky doesn't know, but this has happened at every doorway, adding another reason to the pile of "why I am hitting the next Celestial Dragon I see with a blast from the Gaon Cannon."

While Franky's temporarily lost in his own thoughts of colorful explosions, Usopp's proceeded into the room, and he now stands staring at the words at the words on the left wall. Franky trots in after him.

"Usopp…Factory…?" the sniper questions.

"Yep," Franky says, reveling at how right it feels to have Usopp standing in this room once more, after so long. He _almost_ claps a hand on Usopp's shoulder, but catches himself in time to keep Usopp from seeing Franky even move. He knows Usopp's not up to that sort of thing yet, but _freaking sweet cola_, it's so hard to resist!

Usopp turns slowly to face him, his eyes wide. "This whole room…is just for me?"

Franky nods, swallowing against the lump in his throat at the truly amazed expression on Usopp's face. "That half, anyway." Franky motions to the other side, where he has his workshop. "That's my space over there. And it's been pretty lonely down here without you, Usopp."

"So…I'm down here all the time, and hanging out with you?" They stare at each other for a long moment, Usopp still amazed, and a little questioning, Franky, stoic.

Yes. Franky is definitely stoic, because he is_ not starting to tear up_. Which is why, a few moments later, he is_ most definitely not crying_. _Nope_. _He is not crying he is not crying he is not—_

"It was horrible! Unbelievably lonely!" Franky wails, all semblance of self-control snapping like so many overstressed invention parts. He's held back for a good hour—no, it's not just that long, he's been holding back for the good _last_ _two weeks_—and this is his limit. He catches Usopp up in a bear hug, and Usopp's startled squawk is easily drowned out by Franky's howling. "_I missed you, bro!_"

"Hmph uhumu uuk oo," says Usopp.

After a long moment in which the cola is running extra fast in his chest, mirroring his rush of emotion, he realizes that Usopp is pulling at his arm and kicking his shin. His grip on the sniper may actually be leaving the guy a little breathless.

Oops.

He drops Usopp, who stumbles backward, hunched over and taking in huge gulps of air. Feeling sheepish, Franky makes to support him, but Usopp holds up a hand. "Space…"

"Usopp, I—"

The hand waves in the air pointedly. "Space—" Usopp gasps, "—_please_."

"…Right." Franky backs up, remorseful. He simply couldn't help himself anymore, although he does regret causing Usopp any pain….

Usopp moves over to the invention platform and sits down on it. Sucking in another deep breath and then releasing it, he rubs at one temple. "…would you mind if I just…stayed down here for a while? Y'know…on my own?"

It's a glaring hint that even Franky can tell he better take. Feeling a slight burn of embarrassment for pushing Usopp's limits, he rubs at one arm and turns to the stairs, trying to sound light. "Hey, no problem. Don't, uh…try to get up the stairs or ladder if you don't think you can make it, though. One of us will be down here in a while to make sure you're all right."

"Hn," Usopp grunts, eyes closed. He's rubbing at his neck now, face scrunched like he's fighting back something, though Franky's not sure what. He's probably tired and overwhelmed by the tour and all the contact, so if he's crabby or upset, Franky can…understand. Usopp's always had a short emotional fuse and a low tolerance for stress. They were probably touring the ship for too long, but that's something Franky couldn't help doing when Usopp kept giving him those flashes of genuine enthusiasm.

With one last glance, Franky heads up to higher levels of the ship. Maybe he can ask Chopper to come down in thirty minutes and make sure Usopp's all right, but for now, quiet seems to be what the kid needs.

Franky sighs to himself. _Exit bull in china shop, stage left._

* * *

_Actually, they have no idea where Usopp is or what is happening to him. And why should they? They were all scattered to the four seas, most likely. "Man sold into slavery" is not a headline that makes newspapers. Slavery is supposed to be abolished, after all._

_That must be it. After everything that they've been through together, he can't believe anything else—he simply can't. They haven't come because they don't know he's in trouble._

_He is waiting a long time in a small room—he assumes his new "owners" are coming to collect him once the auction concludes. Usopp hopes they forget to bother._

_The horror of being sold like some sort of…pet…or food…or toy…has already faded to indignation, which has in turn fallen to burning shame and cold anger. He's angry at a lot of things, but what he's angriest at right now is himself. For not being strong enough to help turn the tide at Sabaody, for sitting around on the Bowin Islands getting fat instead of getting more useful, for expecting someone nice to drop by and rescue him instead of using more caution…_

_He is so…_stupid_!_

Berating ourselves for being a little normal again, are we?

…If we just keep our heads down and our eyes open, we'll find a way out of this. Either that, or your comrades will come for you. They are trustworthy people.

_He knows the mindset of Sogeking when he hears it._

_Sogeking is right, but he's afraid of what's going to happen to him. He's seen what the Celestial Dragons are like. They treat their slaves worse than animals and when finished with them, put them down like something with a highly contagious, incurable disease. This can't end well for him. This can't end well at all._

_Despite his nerves he's almost dropping off while leaning against the far wall. When voices emanate from the other side of the door, however, he perks up. The door scrapes open, and the auction master scurries into the room. He holds the door for the white-robed figure of a Celestial Dragon. He has a notable paunch and is a little taller than any other Usopp has seen._

_The two of them stare at each other a beat before the Celestial Dragon pulls a pistol and sneers. "Where you come from you may not have known this, but you must bow before us unless instructed otherwise. Is that clear, _slave_?"_

_Usopp stares, his breaths making him feel empty. He's lightheaded simply looking down the pistol's barrel. There isn't much of an internal debate before he drops to his knees and hunches over the best he can without touching nose to floor. _

Stuff pirate pride, I want to live.

_And that, he knows, is so pathetic. If he were someone strong like Luffy or Zoro or Sanji, he'd have put up a fight. But he's no match for this like they would be and so he's groveling._

_That doesn't mean he can't hate himself for that too._

_He can ignore the shame but he can't fight back the sharp sourness in his throat. He scrunches his eyes shut and tries not to think about what he is doing. Later he'll fantasize that he walked up to this guy and punched him in the face, and for some reason, he'll be wearing a straw hat. He'll leave that part out in the telling, of course. Luffy wears straw hats, not him.  
_

_There is a satisfied-sounding grunt, and what Usopp thinks is the clicking of the gun going back into the holster._

_So…this is Saint Iddis._

_His short life is already looking a lot shorter._

_"Very good," says the gun-wielding Celestial Dragon. "You may come in, Iddis."_

Wait…what?

_A lighter tread, alighting on the ground step by step rather than shuffling over it, approaches. It stops in front of Usopp. He wants to look up, to see who the heck this Saint Iddis is, but thinks better of lifting his head without being told._

_"Very good. Precisely how. Careful with the trigger—wouldn't want to shoot him accidentally. Not that it much matters, but buying slaves these days is a troublesome venture. Now, as you wish—but if he doesn't obey at first, make it obvious who is in charge."_

_Usopp starts sweating again._

_"Right," says Saint Iddis, and Usopp recognizes the voice as the one who had called out that _he_ was Saint Iddis. The other one, the first one to enter this room, had called out the bid—what had the auctioneer said? Gashim…? Gethwin…?_

_"All right, Booga-shaka—" begins Saint Iddis, before he is interrupted by the first one._

_"No, no. We do not address them by a name unless absolutely necessary. Such low life forms do not deserve that acknowledgement."_

_Saint Iddis shifts, something abashed in the way his long robe moves, dipping against the ground. "Oh…sorry, Father."_

Fa…ther…? Wait. Wait a second—

_"Slave, look up at me," comes the new command._

_Usopp doesn't have to crane his neck as far as he might have assumed. His jaw grows slack at the round-cheeked, smooth-skinned face of a boy. The boy's eyes are dark, like those of all the other Celestial Dragons he's seen, but they glitter with an openness and simplicity that seems almost universal to the attitude of children. It suits Saint Iddis, however, something that Usopp didn't know was possible for a Celestial Dragon. In his mind, even the kids had a certain coldness. Saint Iddis's grin widens. "Very good," Saint Iddis says, sounding so much like the _father_ that Usopp is taken aback again. Saint Iddis grins over at the other Celestial Dragon. "I did it! It listened!"_

_Usopp's mouth moves in preparation to protest being referred to as "it," but the words die before they ever leave his lips as a fresh wave of shock rocks him. Everything is beginning to connect. The way that voice had sounded, the mistake of the auctioneer…_

_It all makes sense. The ridiculousness of it all_…

_Bought as a slave._

_Bought by an eleven year old kid._

* * *

Usopp spends several moments massaging his temples after Franky leaves, trying to control the headache that has sprung up behind his eyes. He'd be a bit scared of the cyborg for nearly crushing him like that, but Franky had seemed so honestly ashamed of the action that Usopp was willing to discount it as an anomaly—as a simple matter of Franky being strange—and not as him harboring some sort of secret ill-will. These people won't hurt him, they _rescued_ him from that hell-hole he'd been trapped in—he has to keep telling himself that. Enough times that he totally believes it.

He's getting there. While he doesn't exactly trust all of the crew yet, there are only one or two that seem more suspicious than Franky, and beyond those, only one who Usopp plans to go to any length to avoid. He's even reluctant to be on the same ship at this point. After all, the very idea of being on the cutting end of that green-haired guy's blades again makes him feel ill. Like with some sort of weird I'll-die-if-he-points-those-things-at-me-again-disease.

However, he doesn't have much choice about being as near to the swordsman as he is. There's nowhere he can swim to, since they're out in the middle of the ocean. Besides, if he tries to jump ship, Luffy will probably jump in after him without a second thought, attempting a "rescue." The doctor, too, if given the chance, and Usopp's already seen that the two of them are like rocks in the water. While he'd be a bit more comfortable with extra distance, especially in the case of the swordsman, he doesn't want to drown himself, and Luffy and Chopper, in the process.

Cracking his eyes open as the headache recedes, he glances about, contemplating getting up and investigating what looks like a pile of useless junk boxed in one corner. After a bit of tried-and-true procrastination—he likes to revel in the freedom of being able to procrastinate—curiosity takes over and he hauls himself back to his feet, heading over to the pile. If he's correct about what he used to do in this room, all this stuff was invention material.

Digging through the pile leaves him a little disappointed. He can't imagine how he could make anything out of this junk…

Reaching the bottom of the boxed area, he frowns at the loose floorboard that shifts under his hand. It doesn't make sense. From what he's seen, Franky prides himself on keeping the very seams of this ship perfectly aligned, smooth and tight. This thing looks like he could remove it entirely if he could get his fingers enough of a grip.

He works at the board for several minutes, nearly pulling his own fingernails off in the process. After removing it, he squints down into the hole that he's revealed. Something in the darkness glints when he shifts. He reaches down in fits and starts, hand alighting on something hard, partly wrapped in cloth.

He pulls the object from the hole, plopping to the ground as disentangles it from a red shroud, nearly stabbing his finger on some sort of pin in the fabric. Now having it successfully unwrapped, he turns it over in his hands. The yellow surface has seen some abuse, but the scratches have been polished. He runs a finger over the wide lines of bright blue running from the upper right to the middle of the left. The spikes decorating the top make him think of a rising sun. And what is up with the lips and…that _moustache_?

The mask is kinda…cool, and very familiar. He's seen it before, he _knows_ he has, but he can't think of _where_.

_Maybe Luffy can tell me._

He tucks the mask under one arm and uses the crutch to clamber back to his feet. It'll be hard to get back to the upper deck without help, but he doesn't want to wait another minute to find out about this thing. The mask tingles at the edges of his mind. It's that one piece in a puzzle that seems like, if he could simply figure out, a lot more pieces would fall into place after it.

Twenty minutes of nearly falling backward off stairs and ladders later, he emerges, blinking, onto the lower deck—after a careful examination of the area. The swordsman isn't anywhere that he can see, and that is a relief. The question is, where is Luffy?

Well, walk around in plain view for a bit and the rubberman will probably full-body tackle him—or try to. The others have been surprisingly good at catching Luffy before he actually makes contact. Usopp is also rather practiced at dodging random attacks…

He makes it halfway to the stairs before he hears Luffy screaming his name. Really, if they were anywhere but the middle of nowhere, he'd want to pretend he doesn't know the guy. Searching his surroundings, he spots Luffy's hands on the third level railing and hobbles as fast as possible to the near wall, where he'll be protected from a straight rocket.

Without comment, he watches Luffy ram face-first into the grass and bounce a few times. He's not sure why the guy's so eager to get a mouthful of greens, especially when he hates vegetables. Besides, Franky'll be mad if the damage is bad enough to notice.

Luffy jumps back to his feet with a disappointed and dazed look, which he shoots in Usopp's direction. "Oi, what'd ya step outta the way for?" he whines, then grimaces and splutters out a few spit-slimed blades, his tongue hanging out afterward. "Yech."

Usopp swallows back the strange bubble of warmth that rises in his throat. It might be amusement, but it feels like it could be tears, too, so he thinks it better not to indulge. Instead, he fingers the mask under his arm and contemplates possible questions. Whether there's a lot or a little to know, it doesn't matter. What matters is the _what_, and that, he's not sure about.

"Neh? Wha-what's that?" Luffy reels in a zigzag towards him, disappointment replaced by curiosity. "Hey, what's that?" He seems to have regained the ability to walk in a straight line by the time he reaches Usopp.

"I…I was kinda hoping…"

_…That you could tell me,_ Usopp means to finish, before he's cut off by Luffy's cry of joy and half-blinded by the gleam that enters the boy's eyes.

"Where'd you get that?" Luffy stretches eager, twitching hands for the mask tucked under Usopp's arm.

_Maybe this was a bad idea,_ he muses, afraid Luffy will snatch the object away and similarly afraid to deny the guy what he wants. "Found it," he says, "In my…er…" it seems a little odd to claim all that down there as _his_, so he scrambles to rephrase with something a little less direct, "You know…in the Usopp Factory."

"Really? _Awesome!_" Luffy cries, sounding so ecstatic that it leaves Usopp blinking. "Sogeking gave you his mask? Let me see, let me see!"

"Soge…"

Barely feeling Luffy snatching the mask out from under his arm, he freezes. In the wake of that word, Luffy's sparkly _oo_-ing and _ah_-ing takes place in silence. Something that sears like fire blazes through his gut, rising up—

"Sogeking…"

He_ remembers_.

_—the flames are shaped like a phoenix, burning a path upward until colliding with the target and shredding it to fiery pieces. Luffy's serious; he didn't know Luffy could be so aware of the implications of this action. He's scared silly and impossibly proud at the same time—scared and proud that he could be the one to do this, that he could be so strong, that he could one of those that puts the hope in Robin's eyes—_

—Luffy's saying something to him but the odd hissing that's taken up in his ears is drowning out the words, and there's darkness at the edges of his vision, and Luffy's look is changing from enthralled to concerned—

_—He gives the knots in the last cord a tug and holds out the finished weapon, grim as the light glints on the painted surface. This will be his masterpiece and trump card—_

Luffy's lips appear to be doing nothing more than mouthing his name, concern turned to anxiety. Luffy grips his arms and shakes, but he barely feels the pressure and movement as thoughts and scenes are whirring, flashing—colors, voices, emotions—foreign and close at hand—all of it more wondrous than he can describe and blurred at the edges, like something out of a waking dream.

He wants to tell Luffy how amazing these images are—how much this crew is in them—together and separate and together again—but the brilliance is as suffocating as it is thrilling. He only manages to choke out Luffy's name before it all halts, slamming into a wall of blackness, the images tearing away and leaving him struggling to breathe in an abruptly monochrome world. Luffy's support is awkward, aimed more at keeping Usopp on his feet than lowering him to the ground gently, so he ends up sagging heavily against their rubbery captain. His right side feels numb and unresponsive, then his ears pop and his hearing rushes back. Luffy is shouting his name and shaking him, still.

"What's your _problem_?" Grumbles a rough voice, accompanying metallic clinking growing in volume.

He struggles to move a little, because he recognizes the voice of the swordsman.

"First he got this weird look and then he started twitching and then his eyes rolled up and he was falling over but I caught him but he won't talk back and I can't figure out but he might be dying—" Luffy rattles off so fast that Usopp can barely make sense of it. Luffy keeps shaking him periodically, which is only adding to his haze of disorientation.

"Well if he might be dying, quit jerking him around and lay him out flat! Don't you even know how to do that much?" The swordsman sounds highly annoyed, and strong hands pull him away from Luffy, lowering him to the deck. Even the grass tickling the back of his neck can't distract from the muscled bulk now peering down at him with a deep frown. He'd even be satisfied with crawling away—anything to escape that piercing glare. With his right side acting so strangely, however, he's not even able to roll over effectively. "Jeeze," the swordsman mutters.

"Zoro…" Luffy warbles, sounding like a kid who's been denied his favorite dessert.

"Just stay here and I'll get Chopper. And quit trying to shake him to pieces. Idiot."

Still breathless, he stares up at Luffy as the now weepy-eyed, long-faced boy crouches down and wraps his arms around his knees, staring down with uncharacteristic solemness. Usopp can only struggle for air and, thinking back on those flashes of sensation and image, wonder:_ what the heck was that all about?_

* * *

A/N: Aaaaand the memory mystery thickens instead of clarifying. Yeah. I hope no one was…hoping I was gonna make that easy. Several people now have asked about the girl who looks like Kaya, why he remembers Kaya but not his own name, etc. There is an explanation for that…but before I can explain, there are quite a few of other things I want to address…particularly the main story meat of this fic. Sorry, I'll have to keep that something of a secret for now. But I shall return to it!

Lastly, a big thanks to my most recent reviewers, who sent me some very thoughtful feedback. One even pointed out some errors/issues on certain aspects of the story. I really appreciate it! Hopefully I haven't missed any of the needed changes on the chapter in question. CC is always most welcome. Hope to see you all on the other side!_  
_


	6. Lighthouse

**The Psychology of a Shattered Mind  
**by Liashi  
6: Lighthouse

After the incident with the mask, he starts dreaming again. His mind had been quiet before—void in the night. Before, he slept like he ate: automatically, when the food was in front of him or he was really, really hungry.

Sometimes, in these dreams, _he can fly,_ _a red cape billowing out behind him. He's wearing a mask—no, not _a_ mask, _that_ mask. He flies over a small island with a big white mansion, then he flies over the sea, then over ships sailing, then over many rooftops—the Holy City. He has to go higher to get over the tall spires, and that's when his arms grow hot. The spires are relentless in their upward climb, and make him keep going further up and up until his arms feel like they're burning._

_The cape catches on fire. He can't see it, or smell it, but he knows it—knows that the flames are creeping closer to his neck—and he'll be burned, but he can't do anything about it, only keep flying up, up, up—_

_Something grabs his ankle and pulls, and he's jerked off course. The heat licking at his back is a reminder of the imminent danger, until he looks down and sees the tips of the spires rushing up to meet him. His head's whirling with vertigo. The scream doesn't even reach his lips before pain explodes—_

Hitting the floor of the sick bay wakes him. Groaning, he rubs at his temples and puts a hand to his churning stomach, already wishing for the days when he could sleep without dreaming. He's glad he turned down the offer to move "back into" the boy's cabin—not that he really considered it, since the swordsman sleeps there. Shuddering, he forces his feet out from the tangle of sheets. This particular dream wasn't as bad as some he's had. He's embarrassed, actually, to think of what might have happened if he'd been in the boy's cabin with last night's nightmare, which was far worse than this one. Thinking about the fact that he was screaming loud enough last night for people _outside the sick bay_ to notice makes him want to curl up in a dark corner somewhere.

Franky bugged him all day to talk about the dream—_it'd be good to get it off your chest, Usopp_, he says—but that's the absolute last thing he wants to do. Isn't it enough to have those images disturbing his sleep? Why should he acknowledge them any further? Better to leave them locked up in darkness; pretend like they have no basis in fact. Everything's better that way. These people don't want to know—no, they only _think_ they do—and he doesn't want to talk about it.

The man actually seemed to think he could offer comfort or advice or something. That is scoff-worthy; he wouldn't even believe half of what Usopp could tell him. It's not that Usopp thinks Franky's a wimp or anything, it's just—

He can't possibly understand. He wasn't there. He can't understand.

Usopp shakes himself again, clambering to his feet. He still feels queasy, so there's no way he'll be able to sleep for a while yet. It's not like he feels particularly up to another variation on the theme of his life as concocted by his own mind, anyway.

Opening the door to the deck, he's taken aback as something cold and white blows into his face in stinging pricks.

Blink, pause.

He shuts the door and reaches for the coat draped on Chopper's chair, putting it on without another thought. A pair of worn brown boots follow that—once an extra pair for working, they're now the least worn-out he has. Nami promised to get him a new pair at the next town, although this pair is fine enough in his mind.

Opening the door again, he doesn't even twitch this time as cold flakes assault him. _It's the snow_—_the snow Nami asked him about with a playful grin on her face._

He swallows, not sure what he should be…expecting himself to do with the clean white layer dusting the deck, but it seems to stare back at him like the blank pages in his sketchbook. The two surfaces are similarly intimidating—one reason he hasn't drawn a single thing, only looked. Still, there is something about the quiet, sound-absorbing effect of the layer of snow that makes it seem more intimate than paper, like if he told his secrets out loud in this place the snow would keep them from being heard by all but the two of them.

Ambling along listening to the muted crunching of his own footfalls, he runs a hand over the top of the railing, brushing the snow off and down to the next deck. The melting clumps of flakes left clinging to his hand are a sharp cold. He wipes his hand on the coat, but the stiff yellow-brown material is sleek and water-resistant, leaving him with a still-damp, still-cold hand. He tries a pant leg after that, doing marginally better. Pulling his hands into the coat sleeves, he crouches before he goes down the stairs and pushes snow into a mound, seeing how high and wide he can get it at its most tightly packed.

He creeps down the stairs, shoving the layer on each step to the right edge with a foot along the way. The deck looks like it hasn't been walked on since the snow began. That means he's alone out here.

He's fine with that. The crew is overwhelming sometimes. Their energetic activity ricochets away any calm he manages to gather, like the sound of gunfire off the walls of a small room. A cold wind whips past. He rubs a warm hand over the end of his nose. This weather reminds him of some other time of snow and fear…an aching sort of fear and helplessness…the memory lingers, hazy on the edge of his mind. He's a little curious but is more afraid, so he pushes the memory away. It doesn't seem like an especially pleasant memory, so it may not be something he wants to remember. Besides that, trying to force those things might be dangerous, if the incident with the mask is any indication.

Everyone has been acting doubly worried since then, and since he doesn't like feeling eyes on him half the day, he'd rather not have a repeat of that kind of incident, even if it means not remembering. Surely most memories aren't that important, anyway…aren't worth fighting for…like this one…

He thrusts his hands into a place where the snow has drifted a little deeper, the sting of cold driving back feeling. Working with no goal in mind, no thought, only the soft white under his hands and his warm puffs of breath in the air, he steers away from the dangerous wanderings of his mind. By time he's clustered the snow from several areas of the deck into odd shapes stuck to the floor, he's starting to feel a strange, expanding warmth settle in his chest. It's like being satiated by a meal—only it rests higher up, where his lungs and heart are. It's funny and he struggles find a word for it. It's like…

Like something, for once, has aligned, has found a center. Like he might _belong_ here…like he's fulfilled.

Nami was right in expecting him to look forward to the snow. Despite the cold rapidly stiffening his fingers, he is contemplating making something bigger and has turned to estimating how far the snow currently on the deck will allow him to go. A door opening somewhere behind him registers only several moments after he hears it and he startles, squeezing a ball of snow in his hand so hard that icy tendrils ooze out from between his fingers.

He had actually been_ letting his guard down._

Dangerous. So dangerous to do that. He can't turn around. What if it's the skeleton, bones freakishly white against a snow-blasted deck? Or worse, the swordsman, grinning with sword drawn, ready to slice down, to stain the snow with—

Lightly comes a _tap, tap_.

He relaxes a little as he hears unmistakable sound of hooves against the deck. Chopper. It's only Chopper. He turns and looks at the reindeer. He is in Brain Point and is slowly making his way out down the same stairs Usopp had come by, glancing about every which way. The snow falling onto his hat is turning the pink to a splotchy, fluffy white. Chopper looks at him and hesitates, his eyes wide and round and his ears twitching before he smiles.

"It's great to feel the snow again," says Chopper, but there's not a lot of emotion in it, and Usopp has the feeling the reindeer is simply filling in the silence.

"Ye…yeah," he replies. He should say something else here, something clever or inventive, but nothing comes to mind. He has some vague thoughts of ice giants, but his tongue feels swollen. Mostly he wants to go back to his building. As long as he doesn't get distracted again, it's fine to do something a little enjoyable for once, right? Right?

Right. That's right. It's fine. It's safe here.

Chopper comes closer, still hesitating. Usopp glances around, but sees nothing to warrant the hesitation, unless…no. There's no one else on deck. It must be _him_ that Chopper is cautious of. Somehow, the way this conversation is going seems turned around and inside out. Chopper shouldn't be afraid of him…but then again, maybe it's warranted, after what he did to Luffy—he swallows hard. _Don't think about it. Just don't._

"What are you doing? Making snowballs?" Chopper says, now within arm's reach.

In response to the question, he shrugs, giving the only answer he has. "I…dunno." The snow is melting its way through his fingers and tapping onto the deck. He wants to stretch out his hand and brush the snow off the top of Chopper's hat, but doesn't, thinking the urge inappropriate. _Just…don't be threatening._

"Oh."

Disappointment. Chopper…wanted him to be doing that?

He could imagine setting up an ambush, lying on the deck—and Chopper with him, waiting with a small arsenal of snowballs at their side, ready to pelt anyone coming from the doorway. Then nervousness washes over him at the idea of targeting anyone. At once, like predator sensing weakened prey, memories of _that place_ push at the edges of his mind, hissing to be given audience, and he grasps for something else, _anything_ else.

_Iddis would have thought it fun._

His former master rises in his mind unwanted and so suddenly that he is ill-prepared to deal with the thought. It is a wonder he hasn't thought him before now, really, but with everything that has happened since he last saw him—

Jolted, he turns away from Chopper before the reindeer can see the horrible expression he can feel pulling at his face. He squeezes until there is nothing left in his hand, bitterness raging strong enough to become a foul taste in his mouth.

If he ever sees the bastard again, it will be too soon.

_That child, that mere child held your existence in his hands, and he—he—_

"Usopp?" The uncertainty in Chopper's voice has mixed with what sounds like fear. That fear—that worried fear—drags him back from darker thoughts, and he sucks in a breath, shuddering. He realizes a hand is clenched over his heart, and he forces himself to pull it away, to ignore the thought of the pinched skin hidden beneath his coat.

_I'll never see him again. It is enough._

_You've forgotten many things. It should be nothing to forget one more._

He can't do this. He can't talk like this. He needs time to recover his shattered equilibrium. "Chopper, I…" if he excuses himself with a _don't feel well_, he'll only end up back inside again, trapped with his thoughts. He needs to be out here, to feel the cold and the sharpness in the air, to have the grey clouds and the dampening power of the snow quiet his mind. "I want to build this by myself," he says finally, and hopes it doesn't seem like as much of a rejection as it does to his own ears.

_Sorry. I need to be alone._

"Oh," Chopper says, and then pauses again. "…Okay." Another pause, then Chopper's hooves clop back across the deck, the door to the boy's cabin opening and closing with little more than a soft click.

* * *

Chopper shuts the door behind him. After the refreshing cold of outside it's hot to be inside. He has to wipe his eyes with the back of his arm because they are tearing up from the dimness of the room. After a beat, his eyes are still tearing, so he sniffs and wipes them again.

It's not Usopp out there. Not really. It looks and smells like Usopp but it isn't. What if he's always like this? What if he never really comes back? It's something Chopper doesn't want to think about it, but he feels it in a stinging sort of way.

A soft sound catches his attention and he twitches his ear to catch it, recognizing the rasping tap of Luffy's straw sandals. He clears his eyes a third time and takes off his hat to brush the snow off, trying to give himself something to do.

He feels better in front of the door, as if he's guarding Usopp by doing so—not that there's anything bad in here. It's a feeling that he knows is illogical that he can't help.

Luffy comes out of the gloom, frowning. His hands are clenched and his shoulders are tense but he doesn't _seem_ angry, at least, not in the usual way. He stops a few feet in front of Chopper and Chopper worries the hat between his hooves uncertainly.

"Chopper," Luffy says. "Is Usopp out there?"

"Yes," Chopper says. "But…I think he wants to be alone." Luffy puffs out a breath and folds his arms, glancing at the door as if he can see right through it.

"It really makes me want to beat someone up," Luffy says. Chopper pulls his hat down on his head and looks down at the floor between his hooves. He feels the same way, sort of, but beating someone up or even killing them won't bring Usopp back to being Usopp, just as Chopper's doctoring skills are at a loss to do so. He feels so _useless_.

"I miss him," Chopper says, feeling traitorous for even speaking like that. Old-Usopp can't come back. Chopper should be setting his affection on the Usopp here with them instead of pining to have one that doesn't exist.

It's another thing he can't help.

"He'll remember," Luffy says. "Usopp will remember." He clenches his hand into a fist so hard, that if Luffy wasn't rubber, Chopper would be sure his knuckles would break. "And if anyone tries to hurt him again, we'll hurt _them_."

"Yeah!" Chopper says, feeling anger and conviction bubbling up in him in spite of himself. He wants to stamp the floor. He wants to lower his head and charge. It's something he can _do_. A blast of cold air whips across his senses and makes him feel big and strong and ready to take on the world. Then he realizes the cold is because the door is open. Luffy is tossing and catching snowball repeatedly, grinning. Visible through the gap between Luffy's wide-set legs, Usopp's back is a clear target.

"Lu-Luffy, w-wait a second!" Chopper squeaks.

"Oi, Usopp!" Luffy calls, and as Usopp turns, Luffy follows on with a sing-song "Caa-atch!"

Luffy pegs the snowball. It smacks a still turning Usopp upside the head with a horrifying, wet _thunk_, toppling the sniper backward into the pile of snow he was gathering.

Usopp is completely still for three excruciating seconds, in which Chopper fears a number of scenarios: concussion, unconsciousness, some sort of emotional meltdown…until Usopp lifts an arm and wipes at his face, raising the hand to look at the water and melting snow clinging to his fingers, that is. Then he sits back up with startling speed, giving Luffy a glare that doesn't seem to be able to decide between angry and scandalized. Blinking rapidly, he wipes at his face again, returns his glare to Luffy and snaps, "You—you—_what did you do that for?_"

Luffy throws back his head and laughs that wild, howling laughter that comes to him only at his most gleeful. "Your—face—" he lifts a finger and points, struggling for words between the laughs, and then breaths between the words. "It's—it's—_so funny!_"

Chopper shifts a hind-leg back warily, sensing an impending explosion of _something_.

Usopp's expression flashes into one of the purest wide-eyed confusion before changing to bemused comprehension, until, at last, it darkens to annoyance. Grumbling words incoherent even to Chopper's sharp ears, he grabs up the largest clump of snow close to his hand, stumbling to his feet.

Breath catches in Chopper's throat, wonder rising at how familiar this kind of scene is. It's how a lot of the best playtimes started before—with Luffy playing a prank, or doing something stupid—and Usopp or whoever responding in kind. Irritation always devolved into loud carousing, that was just how it was with Luffy.

It was so…_normal_.

When Usopp pulls back to throw his snowball but hesitates, his expression of annoyance faltering, Chopper is afraid. There's a sudden hesitation in Usopp's eyes that nearly destroys the illusion of normalcy outright.

Luffy isn't laughing now, and Chopper sees one of his captain's fists tighten. "C'mon, Usopp," Luffy mutters, so quietly that even Chopper barely catches it.

_Please just come back to us, just a little, please…_

Stepping forward, Luffy cups a hand around one ear and calls, sounding overly cheerful, "What's that? You want snow down your shirt?" Luffy's smirk widens, and he adds, "Okay, no problem!" Bending, he scoops more snow from the deck and advances on Usopp, chuckling. "Ready?"

Usopp drops the snowball and waves his arms fearfully, backing up. "No—I didn't say—"

Luffy throws another snowball, a loose one that smacks against Usopp's waving arms and splatters more snow into his face.

"_Do you mind?_" Usopp shrieks.

"Not reall—gah! Cold! Cold!"

Chopper thinks he might have blinked, because Usopp now has Luffy in a headlock and is shoving an armful of snow down the back of other boy's shirt. Luffy is shrieking, but laughing at the same time, and he doesn't seem to be making much of an effort to get away.

"How do you like that, huh?" Usopp shouts, releasing Luffy—but not before he has shoved a handful of snow in Luffy's face.

Luffy staggers, now halfway between laughing and choking. He swallows the snow in his mouth, glancing back at Chopper with a wide, knowing grin, his nose red and breaths puffing out white.

Usopp already has another snowball formed, and he holds it out like he's pointing a finger. "This is as far as your abuse goes—" Usopp begins in that assertive tone Chopper's heard many times, usually during the best parts of Usopp's stories. As Usopp speaks, Luffy squats, gathers loose snow, and flings it up. The sniper splutters, breaking off his spiel, and pegs his snowball at Luffy with an incensed growl. "What is wrong with you!"

Dodging, Luffy turns and runs, laughing as if he has a very evil plan that's on the verge of success.

_On second thought…_ Chopper muses, _that plan may have already succeeded…_

"Get back here you coward!" Usopp yells, darting after Luffy.

Soon there are snowballs flying back and forth all over the deck. Chopper watches the irritation in Usopp's expression fade into a small smile as the snowball fight progresses. It's barely there, but there nonetheless, and that's something. The wind stings at Chopper's eyes as he smiles himself, looking for a sufficiently large mound to make his own snowballs from.

_

* * *

_A/N: Detour for mild fluff. Woo. There was at least _one_ important thing set up in this chapter, with a few other somewhat important things going on.

Thank Night_mare_chan for the story being as happy in the end as it was. While we were stuck on our respective fics, we decided to do a trade. What resulted is happily scattered throughout the finished product. If you like Usopp, you should check out her story, Mirror With All The Same Faces. Although it's still early on, if that story won't give an Usopp fan the needed dose of him, I don't know what will.

Unfortunately, at this point, I must announce that there will be something of a hiatus for the next month or longer. The issue is not inspiration, not at all—it's time. I just can't spare any to write with two thesis breathing down my neck. Sorry, folks. At least I can leave you all hanging with something happy. :)

CC is always welcome, reviews loved._  
_


	7. Apparent Wind

**The Psychology of a Shattered Mind  
**by Liashi  
7: Apparent Wind

Chopper snorts awake, having dozed off before he even realized it. In that brief moment of disorientation, he's not sure where he is and his heart pounds harder, until the sharp smell of smoke that hangs on Sanji's things and the more salty tinge of sweat on Zoro's registers—along with Luffy's distinctively loud snores—and he realizes he is in the boy's cabin.

_Own room. Safe._

Earlier—_the snowballs, Usopp with a little grin, Luffy's boisterous laughter_—comes rushing back, and he looks over in the direction of the snores with widening eyes—or, rather, tries to do so. He can't move his head very well. There is some sort of weight on it. So, instead, he slides his gaze over as far as he can, discovering that Usopp's legs are sprawled out next to him, with Luffy's head pillowed on the leg on the far side. Presumably then, it's Usopp's upper body, slouched over, that is weighing down on Chopper and making it hard to move.

Uncomfortable, he wiggles a little and hisses out, "Usopp?"

Getting no reply, he twitches an ear and, by listening hard past Luffy's snoring, determines that Usopp's breathing is too even for anything but sleep. This relieves and distresses Chopper at the same time. Usopp needs more solid, undisturbed sleep than he's been getting, but it means that Chopper's stuck this way unless he decides to disturb said needed sleep.

He won't do it. There's no way to tell how long he could be stuck like this...but when Usopp shifts a little, sighs, then settles back down, Chopper lets out a breath and supposes there could be worse situations. And Usopp's still wearing his coat, so he won't get cold—

Luffy's snoring cuts off with a throaty hurk and he turns over, muttering about wanting "more meatballs."

After exactly three seconds of blissful silence, there is a whiny "stingy..." and the snoring starts up again, only louder. Chopper groans inwardly. This could end up being a very grating time with nothing to do, even if it is for Usopp.

Then the cabin door opens and he feels hope rise. Zoro takes one step into the room and grimaces, then starts to back out again. Chopper immediately tears up and looks pleadingly at Zoro, who cringes.

"_What?_" hisses the swordsman, now hidden behind the ajar door-except for his head.

"Help..."

* * *

Usopp wakes slowly, mind curiously calm and body only a little sore—the good kind of sore. He drifts in and out, each time registering Luffy snoring and muttering before disregarding him and letting awareness slip away again. If Luffy's nearby, and secure, then it's safe here. ...Has to be safe. He has a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that there is something he should be doing, but there's no edge to it, no definition, and for once he is resting peacefully so he shoves the thought away.

When the haze of sleep finally begins to lift, he is puzzled to find the ceiling closer than he is used to. Then he blinks again and realizes that the thing above him is not a ceiling, but the bottom of another bed. He sits up, blanket sliding down and piling in his lap.

There's Chopper in one bunk, with Franky below him—and Luffy is still snoring somewhere that he can't see. Throwing one leg off the bed, he leans half-in, half-off, and checks the rest of the room. No swordsman, no skeleton. And the cook isn't here, either—

Shuddering with a strange chill, he draws the blanket around his shoulders as he steps fully off the bunk, then puts it back when he spots his coat draped over the end. He shrugs it back on, a little troubled at finding himself tucked away in a bed so neatly when he doesn't remember going to sleep in it. Being moved would have woken him, surely. No way he could have slept that hard.

…Then again, he's known to be a forgetter of a lot more than a detail that small, so maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe it's simply another thing that's slipped away. Maybe it should matter. Maybe it shouldn't. Maybe Chopper or Luffy can explain it all.

Maybe. Such scattered thoughts can't settle him, and he's troubled. He needs out of this room.

Stepping out onto the deck again after finding his shoes by the door, he's surprised to find all trace of that earlier…how to put it…_silliness, insanity_ with Luffy and Chopper already erased by more snow. As if maybe it never happened.

But he wants to believe it did.

There are tracks in the snow, to be sure, but they look newer than the ones from the snowball fight should be. There are pathways cleared, too, and a shovel leaned up against a wall—two things which definitely weren't there before. The layer on the parts of the deck that remain unshoveled is so thick now it nearly reaches his knees. His mind whirls at the sheer possibilities of all this snow, and he's not even certain where to begin. He still hasn't gotten to build something, after all, and now might be his best chance.

He's made his way to the middle of the lower deck and begun mounding snow when a bird's cry draws his eyes upward. It's hard to make out, since it's mostly white, but the blue stripe running down its belly gives it away. He watches the bird battle wind and snow a moment before looking back to his mound. They must be close to land. He better hurry up and make this, lest he get interrupted by a landfall.

He's working a few minutes more, still listening the bird's cry. A rumbling _boom_ rips through the air and the boat shudders, rocking to one side and throwing him to his hands and knees. Eyes wide, he looks to the side of the ship the blast came from—into the wind. Blowing snowflakes cling to his lashes and make him blink rapidly.

Where…?

There!

Emerging from the snow-swept edges of visibility, so faint he'd miss it unless his eye weren't so sharp, is a large ship. The snow-dulled rumbles of cannon fire come to him from across the water, along with half a dozen more cannonballs.

* * *

_He's not told to attend Iddis right away when they board the ship which, he assumes, will take them to Mariejoa. Instead, he's whisked off below deck for something called "processing and preparation" by other attendants of the Celestial Dragons. The last he sees of Iddis is the boy waving with a wide grin, as if Usopp were going on holiday or something. He'd probably give the kid a sarcastic wave back and mutter an insult if, one: he felt suicidal, and, two: the whole situation didn't still have him reeling._

_Stupid kid getting his stupid kicks out of this stupid situation._

_His need to _get out_, to _get away _grows as they go lower, but there's nowhere to run, so he feels like he's suffocating under a mound of pillows instead. People are staring, and he can hear hissing whispers in the wake of his presence._

It's the nose,_ he tells himself as a young kid carrying a stack of clean white towels pauses in the hall to stare, his gaze tracking him. His eyes are glassy, which actually bothers Usopp more than the fact that he's being stared at, seeing as that's what everyone else is doing right now._

Definitely gotta be the nose...yeah_.  
_

_He's led deep into the ship, until tight, sparsely decorated corridors give way to a wide hall lined with a floor of creamy marble that he can see himself in when he looks down. His eyes are little more than pinhead-sized glints behind the mask, which is as rough-hewn as he remembers before he put it on. He's starting to feel like the person called "Usopp" is being smothered under the thing._

Then again, the stares might be about more than my nose.

_The Celestial Dragon he has been brought all this way to see is old and fat, his face wrinkled with a myriad of frown lines but not a single set of crow's feet. Of course, all of them are a little rotund with those ridiculous-looking bodysuits they like to wear, perfectly impractical for doing anything_ useful_. However, this one is definitely suffering from a lack of physical employment in ways that the others he's seen were not._

_Which reminds him of a story, actually. One that went something like… hm… like—_

Once, there was a big old bear, a very mean one, who ate and ate and ate—

_"This is your grandson's purchase, my lord."_

_"This thing? Children always like the gimmicks, don't they? It looks ridiculous…"_

_The conversation, consisting mostly of snide comments, goes on without him. He's busy thinking about the bear, and how it got so fat it was stuck inside its hibernation cave long before winter. No one helped the bear because it was never nice to anyone. That was, until this one incredibly generous and noble deer came along__…_

_…__He misses Chopper._

_Concentration broken, he hears a scoffing: "__…__that nose, is it really attached?"_

_At that, he's a bit indignant, but tries not to show it too much. So he ignores the Celestial Dragon and focuses on a mental defense of his nose instead. There are very good reasons for it, after all._

The Great Captain Usopp's nose is quite incredible and completely authentic, thank-you-very-much. A nose this long is good for more than just cool looks. Like that one time I used it to detect the ultra-small "No-stink Bug," critical to the pollination of a small, isolated island's crop. Now this island's name was Lesnel, as I recall, and—

_Smack!_

_"Are you deaf, slave? Are you dumb? I was asking a question, and that's the first and last time you won't get a beating for not paying attention."_

_Unexpected. That had come completely unexpected. Usopp stares up at the __Celestial __Dragon, his train of thought snapping apart into a swarm of nonsensical words reeling around in his head. He really hadn't been listening anymore; the Celestial Dragon hadn't been directing any of the conversation at him. Now he's left with a smarting cheek and a shock he can't voice._

_"I'll repeat this only one more time," the __Celestial __Dragon says, each word succinct and separated by sharp pauses: condescending, as to a small child. "For the record—though don't expect the privilege of being called by it—what is your name?"_

_"U-ah…" he licks his lips, somehow gone dry under the mask. "…name?"_

_It buys him more time to think._

_"Yes. _Name_, imbecile. I swear, the boy bought the skinniest meat sack for brains he could find, didn't he?"_

_He flushes hot with anger, but that doesn't quite push out the shock and fear. "I-it's …I… Warrior… The Warrior…Booga-Shaka."_

_No. No, he decides, they can have any name the want if it matters so little, but they can't have _Usopp_. He realizes what they will do. This __Celestial __Dragon will write it in his book, and close it, and then they'll do everything they can to make him forget that Usopp was a real person and not some_ thing _that was made a note of in someone's ledger._

I am the Great Captain Usopp.

_No, he won't give them Usopp. For them, Usopp is not here. To them, there is only this _Booga-Shaka_, a mere imitation of everything Usopp is. _Usopp_ slinks past their grasp, with a grim frown, watching and waiting in the shadows._

I have a crew of eight-thousand followers.

_The __Celestial __Dragon closes his book and he feels a small bit of dark satisfaction at one small victory in a host of terrifying losses._

_"Now then, I have the brand here, waiting in the fire. Somewhere nice and easy will be most appropriate, I think—the chest, perhaps?"_

_His stare widens as the __Celestial __Dragon strides forward with an iron glowing red-hot. Then the relationship between him, the iron, and the Dragon clicks._

Carrot looks up at him from the ground, grinning. His spiky purple hair hides his eyes but their glimmer is palpable in that smile. "And your men, Usopp, what are they like?"

Usopp smirks, confident. "All of my men are very brave and loyal. And with them I, the Great Captain Usopp, will one day roam the seas…"

His knee bent, he leans into the breeze. Carrot's trying to climb up the tree, along with Pepper, now arguing about who is the first mate. It's Syrup's best-kept secret, Usopp thinks, that tree branches actually make the best napping spots in the summer. He squints, trying to spot the ships that he knows are out there, just past the ocean's horizon—maybe even the one he'll captain someday. It's different—better—every time he imagines it.

He aches a little to be out on a grand adventure, but the familiarity, the comfort of the daily life here and the eager, honest companionship of Carrot, Pepper and Onion still blanket him and lessen the temptation. He may be shunned by most, but no one can really tell him to do anything or go anywhere or be anything he doesn't want to, and there is something in that fact which puts his heart at ease. Drawing in a breath of ocean-tinged air, he sighs, and waits for his chance—just a little bit longer—and grins at Carrot and Pepper as they settle on the branch.

_"Hold him! Hold him down, idiots!"_

"…we'll roam the seas free."

* * *

Robin lifts an eyebrow when Zoro comes stomping into the library with a frown on his face and a flask in his hand. The swordsman has several different types of frowns, ranging from disinterest to hard concentration to anger, but this frown is definitely of the "I'm pissed" category.

Not that his appearance in the library hadn't clued her in on this possibility. Zoro does have something of a routine, after all, and he likes to stick to it.

Except…ever since Usopp's been out and about, Zoro's routine, even if it always has been a rather a loose one, has been in pieces. She wonders if he thinks anyone's noticed or even cares if they have. _She_ certainly has, simply by being the one keeping a constant eye on the sniper. She's seen the multiple times the swordsman has been lounging on a favored spot on the deck when Usopp is about hobble his way into view, and there's barely a moment between one eye cracking open and the deck being empty.

Zoro drops down onto a window seat, tipping his head back to take a few chugs from the flask. Then he turns to the window and looks out, expression softening to one a little more contemplative, to one which Robin knows could be mistaken for a myriad of less complimentary things by anyone who doesn't know he's not a mere sword-for-brains.

Robin regards him for a few more moments, under the pretense of continuing to read. He probably can't see Usopp from here, but she suspects his thoughts by the direction he's looking, as well as by the flickers of emotion that tinge his frown. Robin puts a marker in her book, but doesn't close it. "He's never realized you had the flat of the blade to his neck and not the edge. I'm certain of it."

Zoro doesn't turn his gaze to her. If her seemingly unprompted comment has surprised him, he doesn't show it for a moment. "I don't regret anything," he says, tone steel, "He could've stabbed Luffy more than once otherwise. We're just lucky he hasn't freaked out like that again."

Robin's lips quirk up. "I believe our captain can handle anything Usopp can dish out."

Zoro replies with a scoffing huff. "That's not my point. What if it had been Chopper at that door? Or Nami?" He finally turns to her with narrowed eyes. "He _twisted_ the blade. And not only that—" his eyes narrowed more, until little more than dark shadows, "—no, not only that—he swept it across as he pulled it out. Imagine if that had been a dagger and not just a scalpel—or if for some reason he'd gotten ahold one of curlicue's kitchen knives." Another swig, and he gestures with a finger and the flask. "That's the kind of slash that you _gut_ people with, Robin. Wasn't straight-up panic. Wasn't mere self-defense." Zoro leans forward, elbows on his knees, still wagging his finger. "One point let's have very clear. That wasn't any kind of move he'd've done with a knife before. No, that's an instinct he learned, whatever those bastards put him through. _Are you suggesting that I shouldn't have a problem with it?_"

"I'm not suggesting anything of the sort," Robin says, fingering a page of her book idly and pondering Zoro's sudden loquaciousness, as well as his comments on the subject. "But the decision for him to stay has been made, and there's little to be done now."

"The safety of the rest of this crew is still an issue. There're too many dangerous objects lying around this ship."

She lifts an eyebrow. "I'm watching him more carefully now. But you do raise an interesting point."

"_Interesting?_" Zoro pauses, staring at her, then flops down onto his back, tucking his hands—and the flask—behind his head and closing his eyes. "I never agreed that he should stay," he mutters. Whether it's to himself alone or to her also, she's not sure.

_Nor did you openly oppose,_ Robin is tempted to say, but instead, remains silent.

Zoro's point about the danger Usopp may present is probably more important than other possible directions of the conversation. If he is a danger to this crew, how would his home village fare? There are fewer dangerous objects lying around there, she supposes, but their ability to handle an incident, she can't say. It is a point she didn't consider at the time she proposed the idea. Perhaps keeping him here was best after all….

It'll all work out, Robin hopes.

Somehow.

Zoro shifts one way then the other and looks uncomfortable on the bench. The way it curves with the wall makes his position awkward. Eventually he gets back to his feet, growling and glaring at the bench. "Can't a guy even find a—"

Then Zoro is there, no pause in between the cutting off of words and the beginning of movement. He slams into her, shoving her from her seat, and the very memory of the complaint is drowned out as pain explodes in her shoulder to the peal of shattering glass. She barely has time to sprout more arms to cushion her fall. Rolling a little with the momentum, she feels glass shards slicing at her bare shoulder.

Something else shatters to the far left.

She breathes. Painful, catching, but not impossible—the wind is knocked out of her only—and Zoro is there, where the dust and the snow from the shattered window swirls the thickest, one of his swords drawn and his cursing filling the odd silence in the wake of all that explosive noise.

One-half a cannonball has buried itself in the full shelf on the far right wall. There's more snow and a chill wind coming in from the left side of the room, where a second window is shattered.

"How could they even—and without our noticing—! _Robin?_"

_How, indeed,_ she thinks, putting an arm to her shoulder, feeling out the area where Zoro slammed into her. She's lucky—it'll be a bad bruise only, but Sanji will be pissed at Zoro if—or perhaps _when_—he finds out Robin's bruised and who's "at fault." Her lips quirk up.

A biting chill from the window, and shouting voices floating in on it, draws her from her self-checkup. Slowly, cautious of the glass scattered underfoot, she stands. "I'm all right. Yet—" She gives the newly shelved one-half cannonball a side glance and a frown before returning her attentions to a bemused Zoro. "I am mildly upset that a few important volumes of mine may well be ruined." Another pause to glance at the windows. "Glass is expensive. Nami and Franky won't be pleased either."

He stares at her for a beat before breaking into a roguish grin. "People should be more careful about ticking off our shipwright and navigator, besides destroying important literature, eh? After all, disregard for any of them comes with _consequences_."

She barely has the time for amusement as she hears faint booms, and she searches the white-grey sky, trying to decide the cannonballs' precise direction of approach. "Zoro—more of them."

"Hn," he grunts around the sword now in his mouth and nods, disregarding the existence of the door leading to the upper deck and leaping out the ragged hole in the library window instead. Robin, her hand on the doorknob, pauses with a troubled frown. In all the confusion, she's lost sight of Usopp, who is now nowhere to be seen by the eyes she has sprouted on the mast.

A brief moment of concentration and she's sprouted eyes all over the ship instead. It's relieving—and a little comical, somehow. He hasn't gone far, only to a no doubt safer-feeling spot behind the door to the aquarium bar—the opposite side of where she had her eyes on the mast. He's watching the activity on the deck, his eyes scanning the rest of the crew shouting hurried theories about the attackers to each other and fielding cannonballs that seem to be coming out of nowhere.

There's a boom and the ship shudders. Something off about it, however—it shouldn't have impacted there—

_We're under attack from multiple directions._

Usopp, on trembling legs, has shut the door and begun backing away from it. Robin narrows her eyes as he turns and flees to the ladder down to the energy room. Determining that the best thing she can probably do is follow him and make sure he doesn't get into trouble, she take a breath and turns the doorknob.

The wall on to her left explodes. She barely has the chance to shield her face as large chunks wood and books fly at her and impact, hard. One heavy blow to her head and she's out cold before she even hits the floor.

* * *

A/N: Something funny about the last scene in this chapter: I kept trying to do a reality check on the layout of the Thousand Sunny and Usopp's and Robin's positioning. I'd be like: "OH SHOOT I don't know if Robin can see the Aquarium Bar door from the Library! ... OH WAIT... She sprouted eyes everywhere so it doesn't matter..." The second time this happened I even went to the OP wikia and started doing research on the Sunny's layout...Until I realized IT IS NOT A PROBLEM FOR HER. Darnit, Robin, all your extra body parts keep messing me up!

...And _then_ I realized as I was writing this part of the A/N that I was forgetting to reality-check Zoro instead. And I realized I needed to rewrite _him_. Not her. FAIL AUTHOR.

...So yeah, anyway... I'm finally back, more than one month after I said I would have time to work on it, which means, what...? Over two months with no update. I feel I owe an explanation of a few reasons for this.

This chapter was difficult. I got stuck in multiple places and, on top of that, had a very hard time figuring out how to write the second to last scene. I didn't want it to be too horrifying and gruesome but it did want it to be subtly dramatic, mildly horrific at the most. Hopefully I achieved this balance between horror and restraint.  
Even though my TWO senior projects indeed finished up over a month ago, I was then taking care of all the associated odds and ends (college wants to buy this crazy large piece of art I did for $300...? ...SOLD!)  
My friend's parents came to town and I helped her tour them around and translate, since they only speak Japanese.  
As my final class for school (we do a special short term in late spring,) I took a two-week trip to rural El Salvador. I left my computer, my phone, even my _watch_ in the US. Every piece of tech I own. Two weeks without technology... I was bumming a gameboy off my poor roomie hard, let me tell you...  
I left the notebook which had scribbled in it one critical scene breakthrough from this chapter on a beach in El Salvador.  
I graduated from college, and am now the proud owner of a double major B.A. in Studio Arts and Asian Studies.  
Went on a five-day vacation with aforementioned friend (minus parents, plus one other friend) and hit up the major tourist spots in PA.

And we're already planning our next trip before she has to go back to Japan for who knows how long!  
Also, I'm looking for a job.

...Sound like some good reasons to you all?

Well, I can't guarantee what will happen next in my crazy life but I hope you all don't have such a long wait again. Like I may have said before...I basically know where all this is going, it's just the unplanned transition scenes that are troubling...along with those scenes that require careful handling. Lately I keep getting stuck even though I am very excited about this story (really, it's ridiculous and very annoying.)

I hope none of the scenes in this chapter feel like they cut off too suddenly...when I get stuck I try to force it for a while but eventually I end up having to cut the scene off, switch POVs and move it along from a fresh direction. It's one problem I have with my writing that troubles me and I'm never sure how much to fight with it because I feel like—if I'm bored writing a scene, there's a dangerous chance the reader will be, too. Like I have an internal sensor that says "this scene is of no real significance to your story" or something. But maybe sometimes it malfunctions. I dunno... (shrug).

Well...whatever happens, I look forward to the journey anyway. Hope to see you all on the other side!

Thanks to all the people who have reviewed, faved, or watched up until now. I _do_ appreciate it. In fact, I was just drawing some encouragement from past reviews this story has received the other day. I realize I have also been rather slow about responding to my reviews recently, but they really are the first thing I read when I get on my laptop and find out there's a new one, no matter how busy I may be!

(End random really really wordy A/N. Liashi is a geek when it comes to her story.)


	8. St Elmo's Fire

**The Psychology of a Shattered Mind  
**by Liashi  
8: St. Elmo's Fire

_He stumbles into the light, feeling all the life, all the fight of fifteen minutes ago bleeding out of him—the fight that had earned him kicks to the head, kicks to the ribs and an impressive array of bruises, but nothing else to show for it, only burned skin. Not even Nami's habitual abuse could prepare him for this abuse. After, all her abuse can't hide the fact that she does care about them, even if they drive her crazy sometimes. This abuse is far different, because it's abuse that doesn't care, that sends him spinning and draws a haze over his mind. He feels like he's ghosted his way through the halls of ship back up to the deck, following behind the escorts without even knowing it. For a long time all he can think about is how _this really isn't happening. It isn't, it isn't, it isn't…

_The escorts are talking about him, or at least that's what he registers, distantly. They're laughing about him, something, nothing—he's not sure exactly what and he really doesn't care right now. The Celestial Dragon had dropped plenty of acerbic insults at the end of the meeting too and he didn't care about any of those, either. He'd barely heard them over his own yelling and the screaming skin of his upper left chest, anyway. _

_They'd already done their worst damage. Actions really did speak louder than any words._

_It was burnt black at first, but they'd rubbed that away until most of it stood lighter against the rest of his skin, crinkled and splitting. It hurt lightning and fire before but now it is only a dull ache, and looking at it makes him feel sick._

_Marks like this don't come off, Chopper would say. He had expounded on it once, when he found out about Zoro throwing himself into a large bunch of flames during the fight on Little Garden. "Bad burns stay forever!" Chopper had shrieked at the swordsman, "Do you have _any idea_ how badly disfigured you could have become?"_

_Zoro had only shrugged helplessly, his perturbed frown giving away how cornered the doctor was making him feel. Usopp could surmise what that monster had been thinking: _I wasn't on fire for that long and I didn't get burned, so no problem, right? Why Chopper harasses me about things like this, I never understand….

_This apparent indifference had driven Chopper, with a great deal of energy and zeal, to expound on the different types and severities of burns and the unavoidable scarring that would accompany all the various kinds—or, if luckily the burn was not so severe, not. Needless to say the importance of the issue hadn't really made much impression on the intended target, although Zoro had promised to "avoid lighting himself on fire in the future … unnecessarily."_

_Usopp had listened well, however, and made an even more firm resolution not to throw himself into any fires or put his hand onto a hot surface or even play around with his Fire Stars. The swordsman might enjoy having giant swathes of puckered skin running across his chest, but Usopp was of the persuasion that a scar avoided was a pat on the back earned._

_But maybe—maybe Chopper was wrong. Not because the reindeer wasn't smart or anything like that, but, maybe just 'cause he'd never really _tried_ to fix a bad burn. Yeah, if Chopper really, really tried, he probably could fix this. He'd have a brilliant idea and go running off for one or two of his herbs, and then everything would be good as new, even if it might take two, three, maybe four weeks. Anyway, Usopp wouldn't give Chopper trouble like Zoro, he'd be there for treatment every day—no, better, every hour!—right on the dot._

_There's that belief, a comforting belief like always, in the back of his mind, _Chopper can fix anything, his nakama can fix anything_, and he relies on that. The only problem is that the shock and numbness pushes it back, and for now, he's functioning more on something else—frustration and anger. It's making him a little afraid, in fact, whether it's one of the few reasons he hasn't melted into a pile of jibbering, terrified goo on the floor or not. He knows why he's angry, and its stirrings are giving him something else to focus on besides what's going on around him, yet he doesn't want to be angry for this reason._

_He doesn't want to be angry at his friends, his comrades, his _nakama_, simply because he's in trouble and they haven't shown up to help. Has he really been holding out hope that they will come, and he'll be rescued, and he won't actually have to suffer anything much? Is he somehow daydreaming, despite his own logic that tells him not to expect it, that they'll bust in at whatever time he thinks is absolute critical moment?_

_Does he really _believe_, deep down, that they'll come?_

_Of course._

_He _does_._

_Otherwise there's no explaining the whirling disappointment, mixed with almost painful hope, that's feeding into a growing undercurrent of anger._

_He squashes a whimper, telling himself to man up and bear this. They'll be here, eventually. They all will. They'll find out what's happened and then they'll come, busting down walls, pounding enemies into the ground, all that good stuff he'd expect. Just a little longer—if he can just endure this a little bit longer—that's all he has to do._

_The escorts stop and he looks up. Even if the hall isn't as wide or tall, the furnishings are still lavish—he's standing on that stupid, way-too-shiny marble again. One of the escorts looks back at him, giving him an up-and-down glance. "Final destination for the rest of your miserable life," the man says, and then grins crookedly. "Have_ fun_."_

_Usopp swallows, caught between annoyed and cowed._

_The other escort, instead of wasting his time with unappreciated taunts, knocks on the door. In the silence, Usopp feels his stomach flip. Then a latch clicks and the door cracks open. Another pause for the person inside to see who they are and the door opens wider._

_"M'lady," the escorts bow a little._

_It seems like a long time ago now—so very, very long ago, and he misses Vivi with another inner twinge—but the headscarf the woman behind the door has on reminds him a little of ones he saw in Alabasta. She has an edge of it drawn up with one hand, covering the lower half of her face, and her darkly lashed eyes peek out over, wide and unblinking. "This is Saint Iddis' new slave?"_

_"Yes," answers the more abusive of the two escorts._

_It's a girl—or is it woman? _Has to be a woman_, he decides after a moment, there's no explaining the presence of a chest to rival Nami's otherwise. Sanji'd be going all love-love crazy right now…_

_Ah—probably shouldn't be staring there—_

_The woman giggles, rather girlishly at that, offering him a distraction back to safer territory. There's amusement dancing in those eyes and a smile in her tone, and one of her eyebrow lifts as their gazes meet. "Well, doesn't he seem to be a silly thing? An obvious choice for Saint Iddis. Thank you for bringing him back here so quickly."_

_"You're welcome, m'lady," says the other escort, and the two step back, but still linger. Their gazes sweep over his back, wanting—wanting what?—and goose bumps prickle on the nape of his neck._

_The woman focuses on the escorts for a brief moment before returning her attention to him. "Come inside now," she says, still all smiles in her voice and still holding the scarf across the bottom of it._

_He decides not to look back at the escorts as he steps through the doorway. The woman closes the door quickly, but smoothly. Standing and facing it for a moment, she waits, fingertips of the hand that held up the edge of the headscarf splayed against the door. All is silent and still, and then she turns over the lock and sighs._

_He's tempted to ask what that was all about, but then decides better of opening his mouth until there's an open invitation. Watching and waiting—those are his safest options._

_She turns to him, and, glancing him over, hums thoughtfully. "Shall we look at that burn of yours, Mister Warrior?" A smirk. More amusement. A certain … lingering on the 'Mister Warrior' part. Usopp is not sure what to make of _that_, but he's starting to get a little paranoid that she knows something about him. Like being a pirate. Or something. "Proper care," she goes on, oblivious to his mental worries, "Will minimize the scarring."_

_Minimize scarring. Minimizing scarring sounds good. The less there is, the easier for Chopper to fix._

_With one last glance she turns and goes further down the hallway, and Usopp follows. There's a door at the end of it, but she leads him into a side room. The floor is still marble, but the furnishings here are simple, and there are no decorations on the walls. Catching his gaze, the woman motions to a stool sitting against the far wall, in front of a cot._

_As he is busy deciding whether or not this is a trick that will somehow result in more punishment if he sits, she moves to a sea chest and opens it. A brief rummage and she draws out a jar and bandages. Turning back to him, she tilts her head and lifts an eyebrow._

_It's just like before. It's that amusement, again._

_"You're a quick adapter. But if I were you, I'd be more worried about the consequences of not obeying a command the first time."_

_But in that tone, it's not a threat, right? Just—just a warning._

_And she's waiting patiently now, a jar of something that looks creamy held in her elegant grasp, but who knows how much longer that will last? He's not taking any chances anyway, not now, so he comes over and sits down, keeping his eyes on the floor. He can hear her unscrewing the lid, and she circles around the burned side of his chest. She keeps a certain distance as she does so, only moving in close enough to reach out and apply what's in the jar._

That's right, that's fine, _he thinks, still looking down. He lets out a breath, realizing he'd been holding it._ Keep quiet, don't draw attention. Play humble servant and wait. That's all I have to do.

Wait.

* * *

Sanji has a sinking feeling but he can't pinpoint its exact source at the moment; he has to think about it. It could very well be the whole situation, he supposes, which is a rather bad one.

It could also be the weather, the annoyance of the cold and all this crappy snow. It's making it impossible to see the cannonballs until the very last second before too late, and even he, Zoro, and Luffy are a bit pressed to keep up. Keeping his footing is a problem also, given the amount of snow on the deck and the rate at which it continues to fall. He bites down on his cigarette harder as he sways to keep his balance on the _Sunny_'s railing, still on the alert, and thinks some more.

It's all a pain, but no, none of that is the problem, he realizes. Not really, because this sinking feeling is closer to that horrified sinking feeling he'd had when that creep Absalom had gotten his hands on Nami. The very fact that one of his ladies was in danger had made his stomach turn.

Their enemy—no, _enemies_—have already hit the ship several times. He doesn't know where Robin was during any one of those blows, but fears the worst in the back of his mind. He'd be yelling at the rest of the crew for more information, or be going to search her out himself right now, if it weren't for the fact that—

He swivels to block a cutlass whistling through the air toward his legs, and then slams his heel down on the attacker's head.

—they've been boarded._ Of all things…_

How that happened, he doesn't know either, except that it was about as sudden as the cannon fire. There're enough empty lifeboat-sized vessels in the water surrounding their ship to form a miniature armada, and enough former passengers on their deck to match. What's worse, their only objective seems to be ganging up on and, he assumes, killing or maiming every Straw Hat pirate they can find.

And this snow—he's already lost his footing on the snow-filled deck twice, but it doesn't seem to bother their boarders one bit. They're wearing some kind of mean-looking spiked boot, and the more the snow on the deck gets tamped down, the more confident their steps are.

They came prepared for these conditions, he can tell that much.

He's worried. What if Robin's in serious danger? He hasn't seen her since _before_ the attack started. Even those who are fighting on the other end of the ship, he's heard or seen in some way, even if he can't _always_.

"Starboard, Franky, hard to starboard!"

At least he doesn't have to worry about Nami so much, he supposes, small comfort that it is. She is busy close by on the forecastle, looking to the sky and standing perfectly still one moment, and then the next snapping into action, moving to another side of the deck for more calculations or shouting out commands in a gorgeously bossy way. That look of irritation is quite cute too, although he wishes he could stop what's frustrating her—

"I got it, girlie!"

"_Don't call me that!_"

But he hasn't seen Robin.

Or Usopp, for that matter, but he would expect that the guy'd be hiding under an empty crate somewhere below deck—which is fine, Sanji won't begrudge him that after all he's been through the last few months. He hopes that wherever the sniper is he's staying safe and not panicking too much … wouldn't want the guy to get himself hurt.…

But—_Robin_. Robin is not Usopp, and Sanji wouldn't expect the raven-haired lovely to be hiding anywhere. Not when she's a winner every single—

He shakes himself mentally. _Concentrate, Sanji, concentrate! Where is she? Where could she possibly be and why is she _there_ instead of _here_?_

All at once he goes from worried to frustrated. The precise location of nearly half the people on this crew is unknown to him. Besides Usopp and Robin, those on the other side of the ship might as well be invisible. Mixed in with the enemy, their forms all too readily vanish into the falling snow, which is heavy enough to draw a haze over the aft, at least from here. Those he _can_ see are well enough occupied, and those he can't probably are as well.

Zoro's being kept busy with some guy down on the lawn deck. The invader swordsman is holding out decently long enough, admittedly, wielding those two scimitars. Chopper has his hooves full defending himself, although he seems to get the best traction of them all, given the conditions. Nami, likewise, has enough of a challenge defending herself whenever people make it to the top forecastle deck, although she also has the added complication of trying to read the weather, decide where their enemies might be, and instruct Franky on which course to take at the same time.

She and Franky are also engaged in a debate on the need, the lack of need, and the danger of employing a Coup de Burst.

Ah, his angel is_ so_ talented!

"Eat filet of sole, pug-face," Sanji growls, kicking another would-be assailant flying off the other side of the ship while the man's in the middle of a battle cry and some sort of fancy kung-fu move.

He barely has time to savor the icy-sounding splash, since he has to whirl and deflect yet another cannon ball that looks like it's heading for the foremast. He _knows_ this ship is made of Adam Wood, unlike the _Merry_, and it should be strong enough to take any number of hard blows from cannon balls this size. The only things really that vulnerable are glass windows, but he's not about to risk it. Besides, if by some sort of crappy miracle they took the foremast out, the ship would be half-dead on the water.

There! Zoro's finally, _finally_, taken his opponent out, and is ready to deal with lesser fighters. That, and protect the ship.

_Check, please._ Sanji lifts a hand in parting as he hurries past Zoro, back towards the galley, but intent on library beyond. _I'm coming, Robin!_ "Bow's all yours, Mosshead!" he calls, and doesn't wait for the response.

* * *

In the back of his mind, Usopp thinks it's wrong. He thinks it's wrong to be turning and running like this, but it's the first time no one has kept him from doing so when things looked bad in he-doesn't-remember-how-long.

He remembers thinking many times that _this is it, this is the worst, I'm done for_, but it never really was, and he laughed inwardly at himself later for thinking so. He never really noticed how each time the laughter got a little bit more hysterical. It wasn't a particularly important point.

His master—_the master_, he wants to think, and if he were a little bolder, _that man_, but can't, not just yet—his master locked you up with someone out for blood and three times bigger than you and then watched what happened for _fun_. Sometimes, though, sometime it was someone just your size, who looked just as scared as you felt, and they put guns in your hands and then—

Then—

_No. No, stop this. They're lies. Lies. Your brain's making it up, haha funny, right? As long as you don't believe, it can't control you, not here. Not going to collapse with panic here. Can't afford to—_

_Can't—can't—_

The ship shudders and he trips, sliding across wood, curling up with his arms over his head. For a long moment he simply shakes in his own grip, gasping for breath, half expecting a blow, pain, something—but nothing comes. He's alone with the creaking of the wooden ship and the intermittent, distant pounding above.

_Can't—can't—can'tcan't—_

Something steely and steady plows into the tumult. _Usopp. What are you doing?_

He opens clenched eyes, startled by the odd voice-without-a-presence. Familiar, internal, and yet—

_It's you._

And again, there seems to be something scratching, tugging at the edge of his memory, something he really should _know_.

It's Sogeking. Sogeking—of course, the mask, he knows all that now—

It takes a force of will to bring his arms away, to release his wily, protective grip. It takes another to sit up, and he presses himself against one of the hallway's walls. He's still shaking; he can't stop that, so he grips his knees instead, needing to anchor himself down any way he can. Mentally, he grabs onto the idea that _Sogeking will know what to do_.

_You need to take down that bird._

_That bird?_

_Actually, there may be more than one, I don't know, I didn't take the time to look like I should have—_

_—Bird?_

_You saw this, think back._

Then it's almost like that greatest of all snipers has taken him by the hand, drawing him to a short while ago, with the snow and the cold and everything—and now even the rate the snow is falling and wind against his cheeks is noted, and there is a moment to consider its direction, its probable speed. Everything is oddly refocused in sharp detail, his eyes sweeping the deck, not so much out of innate fear as out of well-honed instincts and locking onto any hint of oddness, until the question of _immediate threat?_ has been satisfied.

_Oh. _The pieces snap together all at once, a pattern of disjointed scenes and memories that his consciousness had somehow glossed over falling together without warning under Sogeking's hands, leaving him weakened and even more off-kilter.

_Yes. That's it._

But for once, it feels like something is entirely clear in his head, no gaping holes of memory, no haze of fear. Before, on deck, that seagull—

_… mostly white … blue stripe …_

_Exactly._

It was a blue stripe that didn't _look quite right_, but it was far away and the snow was heavy. He hadn't even thought it possible, so it was no wonder he'd hardly taken notice of it, hardly been alarmed. It was too easy to pass it off as a trick of the mind.

That stripe had looked like it had _eyes_.

Now that he considers it—_visual Den Den Mushi, and maybe some kind of tracking device? That may be why—_

The ship shudders again, and he ducks down, throwing his arms over his head. Fortunately there's no rush of sea water or anything catastrophic like that, so after a moment he makes himself let go again.

_That may be why their hits seem so on target in this weather._

His heart bangs harder and faster against his ribcage. He knows what he has to do now, and his feet—or maybe it's Sogeking, and that's why he can't stop—rush ahead of his mind's protests. But if his feet, if _something_ doesn't rush ahead like this he'll be curled up in a dark corner somewhere, begging it all to go away.

Until they're destroyed, no going back.

_He's_ the sniper. So taking down a bird like that—it's his job. If he doesn't, and whatever happens could have been stopped if he only had…

He can't stand to think of loosing these people, people that call him _friend, comrade_. And Luffy—if this boat were for some reason to go down in the middle of the frozen ocean like this, the energetic captain would be a dead weight in the water. The cute doctor too, and a few others….

Not to mention the freezing temperature of the water here, so that even those that could swim would be in trouble, like Sanji and Nami and—

Himself!

_This is something I have to do for myself as well._

He grunts, prying at the lid on a long box stored far in the back left of the room, already wearing the mask and the cape. Even in all this, there is something missing, and its absence tingles where there should have been a weight across his shoulder.

A bag. He used to have a bag, with lots of things inside, things that were good for creating, but more importantly now, for _fighting_. He can see them in his mind—a collection of shells, and artillery, even the Kabuto.

He swallows against the sudden lump in his throat. He doesn't know where any of it is anymore. Had the slavers kept it? Iddis? One of the other masters? Some of it he could make again if he wanted, some of it—

_Later. Worry about that later. _He gets the watertight lid off, stepping back as it clatters to the floor. A long moment passes and he is still standing in front the box, looking down into it and doing nothing. _Have to have a weapon. There are weapons, inside box. Pick weapon. Take it. _

He is not even sure how he knew without even looking that this box is full of … full of _… of dangerous things. _

It should be simple, but looking down at the rifles lying packed inside, sleek and polished and cold, he is somehow stiff. Frozen. Barely even able to breathe. _Using a weapon like that, he just might—_

The ship shudders again, and he startles, falling into a protective crouch. While he huddles there trying to convince himself that the ship is not going down despite the punishment it seems to be taking, the footfalls of at least two people thud into the doorway behind him. He's tense enough to snap his own bones, and gritting his teeth, he risks a glance back.

He nearly collapses with relief when he realizes that in crouching down, he's been hidden from the immediate sight of whoever's standing in the doorway.

"While all that fodder above keeps these guys busy, we've got the easy job," laughs a man's voice.

His blood rushes faster, feeling like liquid fire in his veins. He's weak all over and ready for the greatest effort, all at the same time.

_They're here to kill me, kill me, kill me—_

At this rate they'll notice him, simply because of how loudly his heart is pounding.

_No. Get a grip. Don't let that happen. Kill them first. Just have to kill them first._

"They've gotta be keeping some good stuff down here somewhere. Try over on that side."

The footsteps move to the far side of the room, where the cracking protests of wooden crates being forced open commences. Fighting to quiet ragged breaths into silent ones, he crawls forward on hands and knees.

_Kill them first. Kill them first._

Tears leak out from behind the mask and drip hot onto his hands as he lifts them, reaching for the closest rifle. Prickling not unlike that of static electricity races over the skin of his fingers and up his arms when he makes contact with the cold metal of the barrel.

"Whoa, how many of these boxes store _food_? This ship is as good as gold!"

He loads bullets, shaking so badly he almost spills the whole box of them all over the floor. The pair is still opening crates when he has everything ready. He creeps around to a spot where they're in his sights with their backs to him.

"Look at all this _rice_!"

_She is pale and skinny in the dark, soft eyes sharpened by panic. He tries not to think about Kaya as he edges the weapon in his hands a little closer to target. He's counting on making this as quiet and clean as possible. He doesn't want repeats of last time…_

Breathe, in, out, find the rhythm. _The hands only have to be steady for a brief moment to kill._

_Kill them first. Kill them before they kill you._

First he targets the man that's lifted a handful of rice into the air and is letting it trickle back into the crate.

In. Out. In. He pulls back the safety. _As quiet and clean as possible.  
_

Out.

The other's smile freezes when his companion's blood splatters him. He begins to turn, shouting a curse and looking for the source of the shot.

In.

It's too late. The first target is still falling, but the warrior has already locked onto his second mark.

_Kill them before they kill you._

Out.

* * *

A/N: Whoo, finally here! And a little longer than my usual. Thanks to the various people who spurred me on (you know who you are.) And to the several anons that I can't reply to, thanks muchly for your comments, I appreciate them. (Insert heart here with your minds, please, because this site doesn't let me do it in a story.)

I'm foreseeing a slower schedule of updates in the future, due to the fact that I am plotting/revealing with much more deliberation at this point, and the timing/pacing of certain elements is proving worrying. Also I have fallen behind in replying to all the reviews. Once this goes up, I'll be beginning on that. I apologize if I've missed anyone or manage to do so.

Sorry to land you guys with yet another cliffhanger, and even to leave out the "what happened to Robin!" Even though I went a little over my normal length this chapter, there wasn't room. :( But don't worry, that should definitely make it in next time. I'll probably also be addressing the minor issues of continuity with the updates we've had about Usopp's situation on the Bowin Islands at that time, or at least sometime within the next two chapters. I figure by time I get there it will be possible to define the final take on this story's divergence from the manga, without worrying about more details or twists possibly being introduced afterward.

As we go along, you may be noticing the reappearance of "Iddis" as well as the woman that Usopp was delivered to. Any comment that can be made on their development as characters, I would very much appreciate. They're important to the story. As always, however, any kind of constructive crit is welcome. I'm always looking to improve as an author.


	9. Triangle

**A/N:** I have now added content warnings to the top of the first chapter of the story. If anyone cares to be warned for potential triggers at this point, check it out. When I first began this, the genre and rating seemed all that needed to be said to give enough warning for the content. But this story has evolved into something incredibly more complex than what it was as a one-shot, and so I believe a more detailed warning is in order. Anyway, if you don't care, feel free to ignore this and carry on.  
That out of the way, I might also like to meta about some of my choices in this chapter, but as with all literature (if this merits the term) I suppose that half the fun is in reaching one's own conclusions.

**The Psychology of a Shattered Mind  
**by Liashi  
9: Triangle

_Usopp has a hard time keeping up with the woman's flighty energy, even though he's used to that sort of thing on the _Sunny_. She never lingers, instead dab-dab-dabbing at the jar of salve and then dab-dab-dabbing at the burn in quick little motions. _

_She also keeps up a constant stream of words while she's treating him. It's punctuated with a good number of names he doesn't know and one too many phrases like, "I heard he said…" and "she told me…" and "rumor has it…" that remind him strongly of the way Syrup's busybody used to talk. She seems to expect he knows what it all means. Either that or the "can you believe _that_?"s and the "have _you_ heard anything else about it?"s are entirely metaphorical._

_In either case, she plows blithely on through what little response she gets from him, and all the talk leaves him feeling like his head's been twisted around several more times than it already has. At last, after finishing her treatment, she introduces herself as "Lady_ _Adel__, the third commoner wife of Saint Gathram, and Saint Iddis' nursemaid since his birth." _

_Now those are some words he can actually comprehend, which he finds a relief. He, of course, introduces himself, when she presses him to speak up, as: "The Warrior of the Bowin Islands, Booga-shaka," and is quite pleased with how smoothly he pulls that one off. He's really starting to warm up to the name after all._

_Instructions follow introductions, and he begins to wonder where Saint Iddis is in all this. Still with his father, maybe?_

_Not that he's eager to see either of the two ever again…_

_She leads him back out into the inner hall and deeper into the quarters, into a lavishly furnished room. It's spacious enough for a bed, shelves, and a desk to sit against the walls, and still leave a large amount of the center of the room open. _

_Overall, the room strikes him as gaudy—every fabric looks thick, and is set in colors of cream and mahogany, covered with twisting details of embroidered flowers. Mahogany—cream—cream—mahogany! Even the wood of the poster bed, the only truly natural-looking thing in the room, is suffocating under that dark color. And, has anyone mentioned all the twisted cord and tassels lining the edges of_ everything_?_

_As he takes a tentative step onto the thick carpet, following Lad__y Adel into the room, he looks down and notices that there are toys scattered all over, the only real clues as to the room's occupant—a bright orange ball, a stuffed dog, a … pile of painted rocks?_

_"Be careful not to move anything," Lad__y Adel __says, turning her head to look back at him, her lips and brows set in stern lines. Her tone sobers his growing curiosity about the reason for the rocks. "Saint Iddis is _very_ particular about the placement of his things and will be upset if he finds anything amiss—and he will notice the slightest change."_

_With a gulp, he steps wide over the rocks, and continues following her to one corner of the room, where a number of items that scream "chores!" are gathered._

_"You'll wash all Saint Iddis' laundry at least once a week, but probably more often as needed. Here is the first batch," says Lady_ _Adel__. She now deposits a large bundle of clothing into Usopp's arms. "You're also responsible for ensuring his rooms are spotless at all times."_

_He eyes the broom and mop and bucket behind her and decides that any friendly relationship he might otherwise have developed with these cleaning implements will never be._

_"And, since you're only the slave of a child, you may be ordered by his parents, Saint Gathram and Saint Sevona, to perform other tasks on occasion." She piles more clothing on top of what he's already got in his arms, and he has to tip his head back, lest he end up with his nose buried under Saint Iddis' … dirty underwear._

_What he is starting to see is that his future will likely include hands raw from working, a great deal of time on his knees, and way too much dirty underwear. _

_Evil underwear, in fact. Underwear scheming to take over the world, but constantly thwarted by the soapy scrubbing action of the Great … he means, the Warrior Booga-shaka! …Yes, him. Not quite as spectacular a hero as the Great Captain Usopp, or even Sogeking, but a pretty close third._

_Oh well. At least the world won't be overrun by smelly undergarments._

_"You will test all his food before he eats it, when it isn't prepared by me." At this, eyes widen, even though he fights it. The ideas that pop into his head at that one are freaking scary. Maybe she senses this somehow, because he next words try to be assuaging: "Don't worry, I've never heard of anyone crazy enough to actually try to poison a Celestial, but they're suspicious people, often enough to overcome a belief no one would try it." _

_Not comforting. Not comforting at _all_._

_"You'll attend him as he demands, and—"_

_A bang comes from the direction of the entry hall, as if the front door that_ _Adel __had so carefully opened and closed has been slammed against the wall._

_Usopp groans mentally as the voice that comes to them from the hall has that wavering, drawn-out pitch of someone feeling slighted. _

_"_Adel_…"_

_Lady_ _Adel __nods briefly at him, and hurries to meet Saint Iddis, making a general fuss over him the moment he's in the doorway. Usopp has to turn to an awkward angle to see any of this, with the giant pile of laundry in his face. He's not sure whether he should also be rushing to "greet" Saint Iddis or not, and stumbles hesitantly in that direction._

_He freezes as an alarm in his head goes off, and his toe stops just as it touches something. Twisting carefully, he looks to the floor, stiffening when he realizes what he almost stepped right into._

_The rocks. Of course the rocks. Saint Iddis' precious "absolutely do not move" rocks._

Why does this kid even have a pile of _rocks_?

_He cranes his neck to look at Lady __Adel__ and Saint Iddis. Neither seem to have noticed him, and continue to—well, Lady_ _Adel__ is brushing loose strands of Saint Iddis's dark brown hair back up into that funny topknot-column that the Celestials seem to like so much, and adjusting the high collar of the boy's white robe, even as Saint Iddis tries to wave her off. Iddis scrunches his nose—his features are nowhere near as pudgy and ugly as those of the Celestial that Luffy'd punched at Sabaody—but the expression certainly doesn't do much for him._

_"Some stupid bodyguard insisted on following me all the way here, and I really had to tell him off to get him to go away, 'cause he even tried to come in here!"_

_Slowly, cautiously, Usopp scooches back a good meter from the rocks. Neither of the two notice him now, either._

_That done, he stays where he is, resolutely ignoring the ache that's starting up in his arms from holding the pile of laundry. He is going to wait right here, away from everything hazardous, until someone tells him explicitly what to do._

_No way he's gonna dig himself any deeper than he already has._

_

* * *

_

He sits with his back pressed up against the crate-barrier as the shock to his shoulder and arms settles to a dull ache. He'd almost forgotten how bad the recoil could bruise when you aren't used to it. He'd thought he was used to it, but it's been … a week or two since he really held one, and he'd been ill-prepared, set to motion before he'd really been ready.

He's afraid to look at what he's done. The harsh gasps of one of the men had died out minutes ago. Now there are only his own quick inhales and the muted but erratic pounding of a distant battle. Even with all the background noise, the silence from that one spot turns his stomach.

When something starts _dripping_, his hands tighten around the rifle and he can't stay there paralyzed anymore. Every thought comes rushing forward, pushing at him.

_I wasn't supposed to—I didn't mean to—_

_I thought things would be different, not _having_ to—_

_—kill._

For a fleeting moment, he thinks maybe he hadn't, that he hadn't gone for the quick one-bullet-to-the-head like he thought, that maybe he'd aimed badly or shuddered and thrown the shot off or something, but he doesn't believe it. Even if he hadn't intended it, he'd probably have managed to anyway. Still, that tiny sliver of hope otherwise is enough to drag him out from his hiding place, to crawl and rise and stumble forward until he can see. It's only then that that sliver splinters and falls away.

One lies against the wall, the other is slumped over the crate of rice, blood staining the grains red.

He nearly falls to his knees, but even though Sogeking is silent—no not just silent, _holding onto _his silence, _withdrawn_—he manages to stay standing.

_I thought things could change._

From somewhere behind Sogeking, in the darkest corners of his mind, there is hysterical laughter, echoing, making him flinch.

_But they didn't._

The laughter cuts off. There's a snarl from the darkness. _Idiot, did you think the reality would simply go away? How many more have to be killed before you accept what a warrior really is?_

_It's not right,_ Sogeking breaks his silence at last, curling the cape tighter around himself and standing there stiffly. _This is not kind of hero I wanted to be._

_I had to bear the slaughter you couldn't! Did you think that afterward I would vanish so easily? I'm an instinct, finely honed, merciless, an integral part of you! _

_I needed to live!_

He itches under Sogeking's mask now—somehow, it doesn't seem to rest on his face right—and the smell of blood is getting strong enough to gag on. His eyes are watering but he doesn't even feel an inner twinge as he pulls the one body off of the rice. The moment he lets go, however, he takes a wide step away and nearly tumbles backward over a crate.

After that he almost runs into a few walls in his haste to get out of the room. Even though he wants to stay where he is, to say _stop everything until I can get my head back on straight_, his heart is showing no sign of slowing its hammering and he is flushed with dizzying heat. He can't ignore the need to _do_, to _go_. Maybe it's simply the adrenalin, or maybe he knows that stopping now will give him too much of a chance to_ think_, and the idea is frightening.

_The seagulls. Let's just—just find them. Stop them, like I first intended. That, back there—that cannot happen again._

_

* * *

_

Sanji barely manages to keep from getting punched in the face by Luffy, who clearly has trouble recognizing people in this weather. A quick duck saves his face from the undesired meeting, and he shouts a few curses he normally reserves for when Luffy gets too grabby at mealtimes.

"That was nearly my head, idiot!"

Luffy blinks at him, before sending one invader flying into five more without even looking. "Sorry, Sanji, I thought you were a cannonball."

"You thought I—" He clamps down on the question there, deciding he doesn't want to know what the "cannonballs" comment was about. He'd probably get the urge to waste time kicking Luffy in the head if he did.

Time to waste, he does not have.

So he moves on, passing Brook as he does so. Without stopping, Sanji watches him lunge and slash for the briefest of moments.

Turning the corner, he comes upon an invader about to sneak through the door that leads to the ladder up to the library hatch. The man may have gotten past Brook and Luffy, but clearly, Sanji thinks with a smirk, his luck has just run out, and the invader is over the side before he can even notice he's not alone.

Still, slightly worried that there might have been others who made it past Luffy and Brook earlier, Sanji knows he doesn't have much time for self-congratulations. He hurries up the ladder to the library, pushing up the hatch with one arm.

Sliding pieces of glass tinkle against each other when they come to a rest at the hatch's lower edge. His eyes widen as a cold draft, as cold as the air outside, ghosts over his face.

The first thing he notices, perhaps because his face is so very close to it, is the broken glass all over the floor.

Yep. The windows.

_Am I right, or am I right?_ he thinks, though there's no smugness in it, only irony.

The second thing, which makes him forget about the glass until later when he comes back into the library again, is _Robin_. She is slumped against a bookshelf, and covering her is a bright red cloth that drapes down from beneath her chin.

Later, he realizes he also doesn't remember springing from the hatch, crossing the distance between them, and kneeling at her side, either.

For a moment he's afraid to touch her, afraid that he might actually be too late and if he touches her, he'll find that out. The compelling urge to _know_ quickly overrides any apprehension, however, and he reaches out, first to brush back some hair that's strayed into her face. He almost collapses with relief when he feels a warm breath tickle the back of his hand. "Robin, baby, please." He grips her shoulders and shakes, gently, hoping he's not risking making anything worse by doing so. "You gotta open your eyes for me. Come on now. I'll make you all the fresh pots of coffee you could ever want, in your favorite roast…" Pause. Shake. "…No, better, I'll make Mosshead throw out all his exercise equipment so you have more space for your books! Please, Robin, just be all right—" There's an edge creeping into his voice by time he gets to the third shake, but then her slack lips twitch into a grimace.

One deep inhale and one shaky exhale later, her hand comes out from under the cloth and goes to her temple. Her brows crease, making delicate furrows, and Sanji fights back a nosebleed at the sight. _Ah, his flower Robin looks so beautiful even when—or maybe _especially_ when—hovering just at the edge of consciousness, her defenses down, in need of his protection!_

Robin's dazzling blue eyes open and look at him with confusion. He keeps as hand on her arm just in case as she sits up straighter, leaning forward a little, away from the bookshelf. The red cloth covering her drops down to her waist.

This cloth—the texture and color is all-too familiar, and he frowns, trying to decide if—

"Why is Sogeking's…?" His gaze snaps back to Robin's face momentarily when she speaks. Her hand comes out from under the cloth, and then picks up an edge. "This—this should not be here."

So Robin thinks it, too... "Why do you have that?" he asks, uncertain, the sinking feeling from earlier growing. "What happened here?"

She scans the room, urgency in the quickness of her sweep, but she clearly doesn't find what she's looking for, because her frown remains. "He's in trouble," she murmurs.

"Robin?"

Robin retains her quiet elegance despite the fact that she staggers a little when getting to her feet, and Sanji makes a mental note to ask Chopper to give her a thorough check-over the moment he has the chance. Finally she meets his gaze and elaborates, an undercurrent of urgency in her tone. "Usopp—does anyone know where he is right now?"

The sound of two gunshots—two _close_ gunshots—beat him to an answer, and he jumps to stand in front of Robin, feet spread wide and every sense alert.

_But those almost sounded like they came from above._ He doesn't know if it's Usopp—_Usopp, with a gun?_—or someone shooting at him—

Robin's quiet "he's in trouble" echoes in his head, and he shakes himself, confusion solidifying into hard determination. If Usopp is really in trouble, now is the time to do something about it, not debate it. Their first mistake was letting him face this alone, but Sanji'll be damned if he lets it be their last as well.

* * *

_"But—a rifle—I could kill my opponent with this!" he protests, as the weighty object is dropped into his hands._

_The woman who gave him the rifle puts her hands on her hips. Muscles ripple faintly under her sunburned, freckled skin. She arches a brow. "That would be the point."_

_He works his jaw a little but only stares in silence, because even he can't think of a reply to that. His arms are already starting to tremble. _They don't really—

Is this what Gathram meant by a worse fate?

_She sighs—a short, long-suffering exhale—and turns the short man behind her. "Up those odds, sixty to one this guy doesn't make it past his first fight. Even_ with_ the gun."_

_The man smirks and scribbles on the clipboard in one arm._

_Usopp swallows hard._

Usopp swallows hard.

He almost regrets leaving Sogeking's cape behind with Robin now—not having the protective fabric leaves him feeling exposed, even with a coat. Robin has been nice to him, but there's almost—almost something more, words on the tip of his tongue, images half-remembered—too many, too jumbled to be sure he has any of them right.

He is sure, however, that leaving the cape over her _was _right.

Now that he knows the how much of a threat these cannonballs really are, he's determined to put a stop to any advantage the enemy might be holding, and do it as quickly as possible. His stomach twists more than ever at the thought of what other horrible things might have happened to this ship and its crew that he doesn't even know about, and his trembling legs threaten collapse.

His finger is growing stiff on the trigger, even though his hands tingle with an odd warmth. The mask still doesn't sit right. Sogeking's withdrawn, distant, and Usopp can tell that he's mulling over what happened down there. Sulking, if Sogeking can be said to do such a thing. His body almost hums with disapproval. Usopp cringes under it and seeks the only defense he can think of.

_I had to._

_Did you? _And if he really believed he had to, Sogeking wouldn't have that anger in his voice, now, would he? _Just like you had to—_

Here, an interruption.

_—Of course you did._

That last voice is dangerously soothing, but too tinged by cold, he thinks. Still, he gets a feeling like cotton in the ears, one not entirely unwelcome.

_Remember me yet?_

He shifts, hefts the rifle, and searches the gray sky for his target.

_I'm in the taste of blood in your mouth, the smell of discharged gunpowder, the agony on your enemy's face…_

_They died and it wasn't right. It wasn't right._

His hands tighten on the gun, until he can't tell if they're aching from the cold or the tension.

_Focus … focus…_

He isn't expecting to sight two of the birds so quickly, even from here, on the roof of the library and bath. A moment of careful examination, and his beliefs are confirmed. That stripe was a surveillance transponder snail all along.

_All along…_

_I am—_

This time, he's ready for the recoil, enough that he pulls off a second shot without much pause. Just after that the wind gusts, blasting one side of his body with cold so sharp it's painful. He turns his face away.

The birds have long since vanished when he looks back to the sky. Then the sails tilt—_or is it the sky and ocean that tilt?_—and the he tilts with them. He ends up on hands and knees, fighting not to be sick into the snow.

* * *

_He's tired, all the way down to his core, and there's no escaping this one, is there? He needed to get back to Luffy, needed to be strong, but this—_

_The kid screams again, and the guards laugh, and when the gun's at his back he realizes that there is no other choice. Usopp goes cold then. Sogeking turns away, and no matter how much he begs, won't turn back._

I need you, _he screams in his mind,_ I need someone who can.

_His whole body pounds with his heart; his throat is closing in on itself. The safety of the gun behind him clicks as it's released. Jeering laughter echoes even more loudly, tearing at his ears._

_Sogeking won't. Can't. Neither of them. He's going to die._

_Arms wrap around him, making his skin tingle where touched. Fingers entwine his, firming up his grip on the weapon that had been about to slip from his fingers. Chill air brushes over his neck, like a distant door has been opened to a winter snowstorm._

_Perhaps there is someone who can._

Now, Usopp,_ says the Warrior Booga-shaka, a smile nearly tangible in his voice as his whispers, _To live, you must only face the truth and admit that you are no hero…

* * *

Usopp's lungs ache, protesting how rapidly he is breathing in this cold, dry air, and he grabs onto the front of his coat, chanting to himself, _calm down, just calm down. It's over, you got the birds, you don't have to fight anymore—_

"—sopp? Usopp, are you—?"

He's startled, and stiffens. No one there. There was no one there a moment ago._ The enemy's snuck up on him, and he let them. _The rifle is back in his hands without a second thought, and he whirls, bringing it up as he pivots on his knee.

_No—this— _Sogeking is alarmed, warning. _Why would they say "Usopp" if—_

Fear is spurring him on, swallowing up caution. At the first glimpse of black in the corner of his eye, he thinks _a Celestial Dragon attendant_ and his finger tightens on the trigger.

Then he catches sight of the face, that one blue eye staring back at him, wide with surprise, the other hidden by blond hair. _No. _Realization stabs him, but the panic is still panic, only with different reason. His finger's already halfway down and the shot is already aligned and it feels like he's tumbling down a slope. There's nothing to grab hold of, nothing to stop the crash at the bottom—

"_Un Fleur!_"

An arm sprouts from the stock and shoves against his outer arm, knocking the shot off. The butt slams into his face on the recoil instead into his shoulder, splintering the mask and driving shards into his cheek. For a moment, everything goes black, and he comes to lying on his back, something wet tickling as it trickles down his face. The ringing in his ears makes the cursing voice above him seem distant.

Most of his face now feels bare to the cold, but a large piece of the mask still clings to the goggles.

He turns his head a little, and there, at the edge of the deck, stands Sogeking, staring, _Kabuto_ grasped in one hand. Disappointment reflects as the silence between them stretches. The red cape flaps in water-like waves as it curls around him, but he's rigid, holding himself tightly coiled.

Tears are dripping from behind the mask, and Usopp watches numbly as they fall and vanish into the haze of snow before they even reach the deck. Odd, but Sogeking doesn't seem to be crying for himself, and odder yet, isn't it, that Usopp's own eyes are dry? But, he knows what Sogeking will say already, and he has no points he can argue.

_You could have killed him just now, your comrade. Robin was behind him; he wasn't going to step out of the way even though he could have. When you said you were no hero, maybe—maybe you were right after all._

Usopp could say, _Booga-shaka was the one who said that._ Or, _was there a choice? _Or even, _I didn't mean it._

He doesn't say any of that, because the first thing that comes to him instead is:_ …__Sniper__ Island__ doesn't really exist, does it?_

_You've always known the truth of that. _Sogeking whispers, voice strained. He is turns away, but then lingers one moment more, looking back._ Goodbye … Usopp._

_I'm sorry._

Usopp wants to beg and shout _please, please stay, _but the words won't come, they only stick and pile up in his throat. He lies there, feeling as if his limbs are weighed down, unable to be lifted, as the distance between them widens.

_Goodbye…_

Sogeking's presence slowly fades as he moves off into the whirling snow, and Usopp watches, unable to move, unable to look away, until Sogeking is swallowed up by white and the howling of the wind.


	10. Letter of Marque

**The Psychology of a Shattered Mind  
**by Liashi  
10: Letter of Marque

_You can hardly smell the sea in Mariejoa, and this, Adel thinks, is a pity. There is something about being close to the sea that gives the air a pleasant bit of zing and heaviness, and Mariejoa lacks that. Instead, the air fluctuates between crisp and cloying, not unlike those who live here._

_But Mariejoa has many things that all the cities closer to the sea do not. It has the sprawling villas that are home to the Celestial Dragons. It has a plethora of strong marines constantly coming and going. It has all the finery and luxuries anyone could ever need. It has the ultimate power in this world—the World Government's HQ._

_It has it all.  
_

_When the building stands partially shrouded by early morning mists, the roofs and spires loom distantly above, unmoving, like the peaks of mountains, and it's impossible to imagine that anyone could attack it with any measure of success. The palace is powerful. Intimidating. A silent warning of the all the strength that can be brought to bear on the rebellious. That to defy such power would be idiocy—or worse._

_It is a symbol that even Fisher Tiger couldn't destroy. Much of the city burned the day that that fishman came__, but the HQ building had stood. __It had stood as a partially charred shell, yes, but it stood, as had the World Government and the Celestial Dragons, and that was what mattered. Now the only mark of his coming that remains is the very small number of mermaids and fishmen enslaved by Celestial Dragons, in comparison to how many there had been a little over a decade ago. As far as all the Celestial Dragons now are concerned, he was a falling star that succeeded but a little while, then burned out in the face of their strength. For the slaves _…_ he is no more than a name. __Yet she still smells the smoke in dreams some nights, and thinks about the day that everything _could_ have changed, but didn't__. _

_Turning a corner, she brings a wide smile to her face as the security men in black suits come into view. Although she casts her eyes to the floor as soon as she stops, she inclines her head to the man on the right and gives a short curtsy._

_She hears the man click on the transponder snail. "Lady Adel requests an audience with Saint Gathram."_

_"Acknowledged," a static-filled voice responds after a long moment. "Saint Gathram says her visit is most welcome."_

_The man on the left opens one of the double doors and bows slightly. Adel lifts her skirt so that the hem doesn't sit so disconcertingly close to the floor. Saint Gathram will like it; the newest creation of her tailor, it has a train and too many ruffles in pale blue and silver to be at _all_ practical. With one last check that no stray locks have come loose from the matching snood that gathers up her hair, she steps through the doorway._

_Even though Adel doesn't look to the right for a moment, she can feel Saint Venosa's eyes glaring as she walks toward Saint Gathram. The other woman is no doubt at her desk, her legs crossed and propped up on her footrest-slave; just like always, she'll have a book in her hand but whether she actually reads anything worthwhile—whether she actually reads at all—is questionable. Adel keeps the smile on her face as wide as possible, trying to ignore the way her throat seems to be closing in on itself at the thought of Saint Venosa. She does not let her gaze stray from Gathram. As long as she does that, she will not falter._

_Adel steps up to the large plush chair that Saint Gathram is lounging in, wearing a high-collared robe of white trimmed with gold. He watches her approach with the faintest of smiles, seeing as they are in the holy city, there is no helmet getting in the way of his expression. Wife twenty—she really needs to learn the woman's name, the lady certainly has been here long enough for that—waits in attendance with a tray of fruit. Wife thirty-one sits at Gathram's feet, her long blonde hair cascading down her back and pooling on the floor. Gathram idly strokes thirty-one's head as he watches Adel's approach. Adel doesn't look at thirty-one too closely, but she registers the dark circles under the other woman's eyes and frowns inwardly. Thirty-one is stone-still under Gathram's hand._

_Not much longer for her now, then. Even with natural beauty, a broken-hearted woman only holds her lord's attentions for so long. Such a waste of a pretty woman …_

_Adel curtseys deeply, her skirts swishing as she spreads them wide._

This is how you do it, don't you see? The world could be yours if you'd only please him.

_"Adel, darling, come here and sit," Saint Gathram says, lifting both arms in a beckoning gesture._

Let him have a taste of you … _She leaps up into his lap without a moment's pause, breaking out into a wide grin. Circling her arms around his neck, she plants a quick kiss on his lips. "You're such a kind father, to let Iddis have his very own slave—and what an interesting one too! Can you believe that nose?"_

Charm him with silliness and gaiety and unbridled admiration …

_"Nose? Ah. Yes, that."_

_"I was disappointed that he doesn't have a nose ring or a nose bone, however. I thought he was supposed to be an island native," she says, sticking out her lower lip a little._

_One of Saint Gathram's eyebrow quirks up, creasing the lines in his forehead. "Nose-bone?" He snorts, but it's close to a chuckle. "Then I suppose you'll have to suggest having one put in to Iddis," he says, stroking with the edge of a finger what little hair is uncovered between the band and her hairline, then lingering at the band itself, teasing and testing it, looking for any looseness. But Adel knows him far too well after all these years, and has secured the whole piece firmly, so that Saint Gathram will have to go to a little more effort than that to get at what he wants._

_Without warning he brings his lips to hers again, and this time the kiss is longer and deeper. Gathram presses her closer with a hand on her back; Adel can taste the strawberry and sweet wine on his lips. She almost forgets how many others are there watching. _

_He breaks away, but lingers close, his forehead to hers. "Come see me tonight," he whispers._

_She entwines his free hand with his. "Of course," she whispers back, and lingers a few moments more, leaning against his chest as he strokes the back of her neck softly. At length she sighs and, pulling back, says, "… I should be getting back to Saint Iddis. He'll be hungry for dinner soon. You can't trust mere bodyguards to look after a child properly."_

_Gathram nods, and she disentangles herself, backing away in a half bow._

_"Make sure he isn't giving that thing any delusions of grandeur, my dear," Saint Gathram adds, almost as an afterthought, so that she has to pause in her exit. "No feeding the thing from his own plate. New slaves needs to learn their place. This one seems remarkably meek but if he tries anything, you know what to do."_

_Adel curtsies again. "Certainly, my lord. I have been carrying my gun and collar activator."_

_Gathram smiles. "As usual, you are insightful on all matters. I shall be expecting reports on how things are coming along."_

_No doubt he'll want to know about how both Iddis and the new slave are behaving toward each other. He's never taken risks with his son, and he isn't about to start now. One last curtsy of confirmation, and Saint Gathram dismisses her with a nod, even as he motions for twenty to bring the fruit tray closer._

_She's almost to the door when Saint Venosa calls out after her, tone dripping saccharine, "Oh dearest Kitten, will you really leave without greeting your lady?"_

_Adel wants to freeze, to really hesitate before stopping, but she can't afford that with Saint Venosa, so she squashes the notion. Instead she gathers up her skirts once more and gives a small curtsy. "I should not dream of it, except that you seemed so involved in your reading that I was quite loathe to interrupt."_

_"Nonsense." Saint Venosa waves her free hand, uncrossing and then crossing her feet the other way. They remain propped up on her footrest-slave, the long split up her skirt leaving her legs exposed well past her knees. Her high heels shape her feet elegantly. "When else would I have a chance to inquire about the health of my own son?"_

_Again Adel bristles inwardly, and again she has to squash it. Fortunately she has a good deal of practice at ignoring her first instincts, so her reply comes easily and evenly enough. "How kind of his mother to express such concern! I assure you he is quite well—"_

_Saint Venosa lets out an irritated hiss as her feet take a sudden, brief dip. _Of all times to let your arms giver out, _Adel thinks, taking care not to look down too much, instead focusing on a point on the wall just above Saint Venosa's head. Still, it's easy to tell that Saint Vanosa now is slamming her heel into the footrest-slave's side, cursing under her breath. Adel twitches inwardly but the footrest only makes a strangled, choking sound. When Saint Venosa's vehemence seems to wane, Adel lets her eyes drift down. Small drops of blood are starting to spot the floor._

_"He might so enjoy a visit from you—" Adel says, clasping her hands and smiling widely. Saint Venosa pauses in her kicking and even glances at Adel, before glaring at the slave again. Adel takes that as Saint Venosa's blessing and continues on. "—And it would give him a chance to show off his very first purchase."_

_Saint Venosa shoves the slave over with her foot, then quirks an eyebrow and purses her lips, suspicion evident. "Is he that enamored? I suppose I should, then. After all, how will my son know how to treat slaves if he does not see enough good examples?"_

_"Indeed," Adel nods, refusing to let herself look down again. Irritation wars with the sick feeling of her stomach curling in on itself._

_"Very well then," Venosa says, opening her book once more. "I may visit on the 'morrow, if it suits my schedule. Carry on, Kitten. Tell the guards to clean this waste off the floor." Venosa motions with her foot at the collapsed slave, who doesn't seem to have moved. Maybe she's unconscious. Maybe she simply doesn't dare it. "And send another slave from my reserves. I'll expect her here in the next fifteen minutes."_

_"I will," Adel says with a final curtsy, finally deeming it safe to turn and leave. She notifies the guards and then heads down to Venosa's personal chambers, which the "reserves" should be finishing up the daily cleaning. By time she arrives she's already decided who to send—the twenty-something with a braid of long black hair down her back. Venosa bought her last winter, so she must be the one longest here._

_Adel sighs. It's a pity and a boon that Venosa's slaves are never around long enough to make learning their names worthwhile._

* * *

Luffy had planned to move his full attention to the problem of the cannonballs once the last invader was enthusiastically ejected from the ship. However, now that he has gotten a moment to figure out where the cannon fire is actually coming from, he realizes the onslaught has already stopped with as little ceremony as it started—not that the invaders themselves had been much of a fight to begin with. They were kinda disappointing, actually, since this was the New World, and he didn't even break a sweat. Even if it was only the first island on the surface, after Fishman Island Luffy'd been expecting better.

Brook, meandering over while twirling his resheathed cane-sword on one arm, grins down at Luffy, a gleam in his dark eye-sockets. "Splendid work, if I may say so myself," he comments, finishing one last twirl and setting the cane's end down on the deck with a _thunk_.

Luffy gives him a grin back as unease settles in the pit of his stomach. His hand twitches, and he ponders what could be the source of this feeling. At last his grin fades into a frown. Turning, Luffy scans the grey-white haze shrouding the line between sea and sky, and it occurs to him that there should be a big ship or island that these attackers could come from, yet he doesn't remember seeing anything. Maybe he missed it?

"Master Luffy?"

He scratches under his hat. Would Brook have noticed this sort of thing? Maybe he should ask—

The door to the galley bangs open. "_Luffy!_"

He whips around. That note in Sanji's voice solidifies the unease into alarm, and thoughts of enemy ships fall from his mind.

"Luffy—" Sanji seems to notice Brook's presence then, and he glances between the two, his gaze hardening. "Brook. Get Chopper. Tell him it's—" he pauses here, and glances down briefly. "—it's Usopp. He's not so bad physically, but he's really damn shaken up."

"Oh my, yes, at once!" Brook says.

Sanji continues, "Luffy—"

Luffy'd started moving at the _it's Usopp_. Even as Sanji addresses him, he is already at the doorway, intent on the sick bay beyond the galley. Their shoulders knock against each other, and Sanji stumbles back with little resistance, silent.

Luffy gets a few more steps before the wrongness hits him full-force and he freezes. _Sanji— _

He looks back. Sanji's staring out the door still, even though Brook is long gone. Lifting a lighter to the cigarette between his lips, Sanji shields the flame from the wind with the other hand. Luffy blinks and cocks his head to the side, not liking the way his cook is hanging back. "Hey, aren't you coming?"

The lighter disappears into a pocket. Sanji takes a deep draw from his cigarette and exhales, then answers with an absent wave, the cigarette between two fingers. "No … no, I'll just…"

"Just what?" Luffy presses, narrowing his eyes.

That, at last, is sufficient to drag Sanji's full attention from his thoughts—broody thoughts for sure—but then he mutters, still not turning from the doorway, "… get some drinks…"

Luffy is puzzled, but not against drinks if he gets to drink some of them. He is about to question what Sanji means exactly when he straightens, and adds a little more firmly, "I'll make something hot; Nami-san's probably freezing, trying to navigate in this weather." Sanji turns, slamming the galley door hard against the wind, and heads over to the stove top. "You go ahead." Luffy watches in silence as Sanji begins filling up a large kettle and sets it on the stove. There's a beat before the cook looks over, expression unamused, and he says with some heat: "If you don't get in there now you won't even be able to get near him until Chopper's done fussing."

Luffy grins. Everyone's acting a little off these days, but the plain-old, perfectly normal irritation in Sanji's voice is satisfactory for now, he supposes. "Make me some meat snacks," Luffy says. "I'm hungry."

Sanji's expression sours even more. "I'll make you your snacks when I'm good and ready," he snaps, the _hell no, you useless piece of rubber_ there in his tone. Like it should be.

But Luffy is pleased to see that Sanji's already moving toward the refrigerator door.

Robin looks at him when he comes in, like she might look at a book, seeking and scanning until she finds _exactly_ what she's looking for (when she does, who knows what will happen next. It's usually impossible to tell what she's even looking for in the first place, let alone what she wants with it. Robin looks for things Luffy wouldn't even dream of, but the usually turn out to be important, so this is true for him, at least: that's why they have Robin, to _know_ to go looking for things that they don't even realize are lost yet.)

But after a moment Robin nods, gliding past him and out into the galley in silence.

"Usopp?" Luffy takes in a breath and holds it for a moment, cocking his head at the lump in a yellow coat and familiar brown overalls curled up on the bed. Muffled crying pauses before Usopp, who is pressing some sort of white cloth to the side of his face, curls up even tighter.

Luffy shrugs out of his coat as he approaches, draping it over the back of Chopper's chair. He's slow to come and sink onto the edge of the bed to the right of Usopp, neither as far or as close as he can get. From here he notices that Usopp's boots are dotted with drops of melted water and his overalls are damp on the cuffs. So he was definitely outside, and it's the fighting that's freaked him out like this. Luffy crosses his legs and waits.

Usopp doesn't say anything, just goes on crying and sniffling and Luffy slips his hat from his head, fingering the edges and staring into the crown. It's not like Luffy particularly needs to hear what Usopp's thinking or feeling, but it's not very Usopp-like to say nothing at all. And out of all the things that are wrong right now, this seems like one of the most wrong to Luffy. That and the fact that Usopp doesn't tell stories anymore. Come to think of it, that is probably even more wrong for Usopp than not talking in the first place.

Now that they've gotten rid of the bad guys and the bad things and it still hasn't helped, there are only a few more things that Luffy can think to do, and just maybe he can fit one of them in before Chopper gets here.

Taking his hat by the crown, he moves to set it on Usopp's hip—not too fast, not too slow. Luffy doesn't want to freak him out but he doesn't want him not to notice, either. Usopp props himself up on his left elbow almost as soon as it touches down. The movement dislodges the hat, and Usopp has to grab for the rim, which causes him to drop the cloth pressed to the left side of his face.

"Luffy—wha—" The drop reveals the swelling around his eye—it'll probably become a pretty impressive shiner—and an assortment of cuts, a few of them deep and jagged, most of them starting to ooze blood not long after the cloth is dropped. Moving into a sitting position, he leaves the hat in his lap and takes up the cloth again. He looks away, new tears still forming and dripping down. "Why—why are you … ?"

Luffy stares up at the ceiling while he thinks about something about the hat to get Usopp started with. Looking up like this, it occurs to Luffy that Franky did a really good job on this ship, just like everything else he builds. The grooves are tight and straight … and it's impossible to count the lines in the grain of the wood, they're so close together and never ending. That tree that must have grown up big and strong for years and years …

"It's good at keeping secrets," Luffy says, finally, realizing he'd almost completely drifted off somewhere else.

"W-what?" Usopp asks, like he hadn't quite been paying attention for a moment, either.

Luffy grabs onto his ankles and rocks forward and back a little, elaborating with some care. "The hat, of course. It always listens. Likes to hear stories. It prefers the happy ones, of course, but it doesn't mind some sad ones every once in a while, either."

Here Luffy pauses, trying to decide how Usopp now feels about the hat. And stories! That's actually the important part. But Usopp just looks confused and still on the verge of more tears, so Luffy grins big and wide and sure, something Usopp probably needs to see. "You can hold onto the hat for a while. Maybe you'll have something to say to it later."

Usopp looks away, scrubbing at his face with one hand and then taking up the cloth again. He shakes his head slowly, eyes looking a some point far off beyond the sick bay wall. "I…I don't…"

Luffy blinks, wriggling his toes. There's black stuff stuck under his big toenail so he starts digging at it. It would be difficult with his fingernails this short but the funny thing is, even his toenails are kinda stretchy. You'd think he'd be used to it but at the moment it's as fun as the first time he'd realized they did that. Usopp's trying to put the hat into Luffy's lap now, but Luffy pushes it away and keeps busy picking, at least until Usopp gives up on that idea.

Luffy glances up occasionally, but the silence begins to stretch out as Usopp stares off at something it seems only he can see, the crown of the hat looking slightly squashed in Usopp's tense hand. Luffy wonders what's taking Chopper—not that it really matters, but he shouldn't he have come screaming by now? … Huh. Probably needed to treat someone else first.

"I thought … everyone's always coming, hunting, and it seemed … " Luffy looks up without lifting his head, but now Usopp is staring hard down into the hat's crown. "I didn't—I couldn't—and then…" His voice drops to a hoarse whisper. "… and I just left them there. Now—now they're probably all…"

Usopp's hand is clamped on the crown so tight that Luffy is inwardly cringing, but he knows Usopp doesn't mean to hurt it—and his hat it tougher than that, anyway—so he grips his ankles and makes himself listen. Still, whatever had prompted Usopp to talk fades. His grips loosens and the hat drops onto the bed. Usopp curls his free arm around his legs and presses his forehead to his knees.

"I don't want to tell you about it anymore."

Luffy frowns, uncertain. It's not really that surprising, since it kinda seemed like Usopp'd been trying to tell multiple stories all at once. "That's okay," Luffy says, and he thinks it sounds rather mild. That's good. Small steps at first and all that.

Then that awful silence reigns again, and Luffy hates it more than ever. For a moment they were going somewhere but now they're not going anywhere at all. He wants to scream and tear at this heaviness that muffles everything like a thick blanket, until Usopp's all right again and they can't shut him up, even if they want to.

But Usopp—all the thing that are wrong need _time_ to heal, not punching. To Luffy there's all the time in the world, no matter how frustrated it makes him, but he knows that not all the crew feels the same.

The door opens so fast that its thud against the wall jolts both of them to attention. Chopper's hooves clip-clop on the floor in a nervous rhythm as the wide-eyed reindeer starts a few sentences, something about Robin that sounds like some sort of explanation, and several that are simply fretting, though he doesn't finish any of them. Finally, however, something seems to click and Chopper hurries over to Usopp, swinging the door to the galley shut as he does. "Let me see. What happened? What'd you _do_?"

Luffy watches, chuckling, as Chopper moves with a decisive assurance, one that leaves Usopp too surprised to even think of protest or withdrawal. By time Luffy's risen from the bed Chopper's already finished his prognosis and begun cleaning most of the scrapes.

Leaving the hat where it is, Luffy ambles over to the door to the aft deck, to the outside. Usopp should hang onto the hat for a bit, Luffy decides, at least until he figures out what else to say to it. Maybe he just needs some time to think the story through. In any case, it seems good to leave the hat with Usopp for a while. It's a lucky hat. It'll look out for him.

Luffy needs a moment to himself to think. There's something about that story that's bothering him now. He can't put his finger on it, but maybe if he has a chance to mull it over….

Once he's let the door shut behind him, he notices Zoro is out here, looking out at the curtain of snow with a hand resting on the hilt of the foremost katana at his hip. Luffy is surprised and yet not surprised to find him waiting. Like opening a present and finding out it was the one you put on your list all along, the you-should-have-seen-it-coming sort of surprise.

"Zoro?"

Turning his head a little in Luffy's direction, Zoro nods.

Luffy comes over to Zoro's side and rests his forearms on the railing. He eyes the stray flakes blowing in close enough that maybe if he just stretched his neck a little, he could catch them in his mouth.

Zoro sighs, his breath a small white puff in the cold. He seems about to say something, but pauses when he looks at Luffy. Then there's a moment of consideration … then, something in Zoro's gaze pulls back. "…This didn't go well," he says finally, tone nothing more than factual. Luffy kinda wonders what Zoro changed his mind about, but then decides he probably wouldn't have liked it for some reason.

Luffy blinks at him. "We beat 'em, didn't we? Usopp's a little freaked and he kinda took some bad knocks but…"

Zoro gives a slight shake of his head, his hand tightening on the hilt of Wadō. "I've been below. Robin told me about what happened with Usopp. There's something down in the hold you need to see, and you need to see it before the rest of the crew does."

The look Zoro gives him now is the only convincing Luffy really needs.

* * *

A/N: Ahh sorry this took so long. Actually it was all written a few months ago... but I felt like it needed tweaking, I was nervous about putting in so much OC (though I have to, if I want to have Celestials), I had a crisis about where this part between the middle and the end is all going, and I started working full time. Not all of these problems are solved to my satisfaction (not that the last is one), but I've gotten a few pages into the next chapter, so it was high time to update. If you all can't tell, my honeymoon with this story is over... here comes the stage where lots of work is needed. *cracks knuckles* No more moping and avoiding for you, Usopp. Now, we deal.


	11. Ring the Bell

**The Psychology of a Shattered Mind**  
by Liashi  
11: Strike the Bell

_"Don't slouch, don't relax, and most importantly, be attentive__," says Lady Adel._

_So he does._

_One week in Mariejoa, and his __world has narrowed to mechanically followed commands. He doesn't know what else to do—even the Great Captain Usopp has run out of escape plans that don't end with being either blown up or shot. He's got ten thousand too much of everything: ten thousand kilometers of separation from the sea, ten thousand marines and Celestials between here and there, and what sometimes feels like ten thousand grams of explosives around his neck. All of this is several thousand too much for the Great Captain Usopp's normally more than enough eight thousand loyal followers. Besides which, Iddis doesn't go very many places, and when he does, Usopp is left behind in a mansion where men in black suits guard every corridor._

_"Don't show tears; don't show anger; be a picture of pleasure. You are glad to serve," says Lady Adel._

_So he does._

_He __craves news of his crewmates__—_any news. Since that one paper that dropped on the Bowin Islands, he hasn't been in the position to read anything more. By now, with the news of the war at Marineford likely spread all around the world, he bets the whole crew has made it back to Sabaody, knowing how much Luffy needs them.

_And he's not there._

_"Don't speak unless spoken to__," Lady Adel tells him._

_So he is silent, and the silence aches with all the words of protest and threads of fanciful tales trying to claw their way up his constricted throat._

_Would they even—no, that's a stupid thought, of course they're going to wonder why he doesn't show up. __Maybe they'll even search around. He realizes with a sinking feeling, however, that they're more likely to stumble across the name Booga-shaka than they are Usopp, and that, after a while, even the indomitable crew may be forced to give up. _

_"__Don't look them in the eyes unless it's demanded. No hints of rebellion or confrontation," Lady Adel advises, stern._

_There are no other choices. Not if he wants to live.  
_

_His crewmates still have__ dreams they need to go after. They would eventually realize, and rightly so, that he wouldn't want them all to set aside those dreams for too long. Not for him. Forever would be a long time to look for him—too long—so he kind of hopes he's right about that. At the same time, the most selfish part of him kind of hopes he isn't._

_Besides, __trying to break into Mariejoa? He believes in their strength, but after Sabaody, he can also be realistic. It's suicide. It might be better that they can't find him—just so they won't do anything stupid._

_"Do these things, and you may yet live a while. Don't, and you will be fortunate if your end is swift."_

_Feeling powerless is not exactly an unfamiliar state for Usopp, but given how complete it is__ this time, that doesn't mean it burns and chafes any less. There is no time for his own of anything. When Lady Adel gives an order, he follows it. When Saint Iddis tells him to do things, he does them, too. The young Celestial, Usopp notes, is both shorter and appallingly more immature than his real age by about three years. He always gets what he wants._

_The gossip Lady Adel is so fond of rambling on about helps__ Usopp, oddly enough, whether she means it to or not. There's usually a shred of truth to most rumors, and he starts to pick up names, relationships, and behaviors. Even though he doesn't have faces to put with most of them, he files it away as much as he can anyway. He doesn't know what will become useful, or what might save his skin in this place, and he needs all the help he can get. She tells many stories of the "absolutely unbelievable", "absolutely gruesome", and "absolutely disturbing" things some Celestials do to their slaves, to the point where he begins to wonder if she's also trying to scare him out of his mind. Scare him straight is more likely … he hopes._

_She certainly is managing to achieve _that_.  
_

_"One last thing__ I want to make perfectly clear to you, Booga-shaka—" Lady Adel says one day, after recounting how someone named Saint Yavel had his slave hung up by his toes and flogged for spilling hot soup into his master's lap, "Saint Iddis has been my charge since his birth. If you serve well, I may speak up for you at some time as you need it. I have been with Saint Gathram the longest out of all his other wives, and he values my opinion. Harm Saint Iddis, however, and I guarantee the last person to suggest your punishment be more merciful will be me."_

_This __Usopp takes to heart in a way he hasn't quite the many other things she's waxed longer about, because it's the first time he sees anything resembling real determination in Lady Adel's eyes. It's a little puzzling, however, because after she says that, she goes straight back to the gossip as if the other statement had been about nothing more than the weather—perfectly natural._

_Only makes the point all the more startling._

_"A clever psychological game, all th__at death and destruction," his imaginary-Robin chuckles, one night when he's trying to go to sleep and has the whole crew envisioned in his head. They're listening in rapt attention as Usopp tells them about the wonders and horrors of life in Mariejoa, with all the proper embellishments mixed in, of course. He wants to get on with the story, because he's getting really sleepy, and imaginary-Zoro and imaginary-Sanji are starting to snarl at each other, while imaginary-Luffy's expanding himself into a balloon for no apparent reason. But imaginary-Robin continues without batting an eye at all that: "I think it's working rather well, Usopp. Don't you?"_

_The corner of her mouth crooks up, her steady gaze boring into his. Robin's never so much confrontational as she is _knowing_._

_So h__e looks away and stammers something noncommittal before finally falling asleep, just so he doesn't have to admit the ugly truth. At least, not with everyone in the crew staring at him waiting to hear the rest, and Luffy growing so ridiculously huge that he and Chopper are starting to get pushed out the door…._

* * *

Chopper seems to sense Usopp's exhaustion and mood, and once he finishes the bandaging, excuses himself to his desk, saying he has medicines to make. Though he remains in the room, his back is to Usopp. This is something of a relief. Maybe after a while Chopper will forget he's even here.

So Usopp stays under a heavy blanket with his back to the doctor, one arm wrapped around his chest, the other cradling the straw hat, hoping to be ignored for once.

_How ironic … how _dangerous_._

Booga-shaka croons the word _dangerous_ like a food connoisseur might the word_ delicious_. Usopp scrunches his eyes shut, letting the cold wash over him and pass by. He resolutely ignores the muffled giggling in the back of his head and doesn't dare look Booga-shaka in the eyes. The thought of it is frightening enough.

_Just leave me alone, and that goes for you especially._

…_Please._

Instead he focuses on the clinking and grinding of Chopping making his pastes and powders, focuses on breathing, focuses on the rough surface of the straw hat. When the door to the galley opens, he knows not because it squeaks, but because of the movement of air and the faint smell of fruity spice and smoke introduced to the room.

"Hey, Cho…"

"Shh."

Sanji's voice is falling quieter even before Chopper shushes him, and now it's almost too hard for Usopp to hear. "…made something hot for everyone. Nami-san says…" and here Sanji's voice dips too low, and then comes back up, "…wherever that is."

Something tap-taps on wood—Chopper's hoof, maybe—and Chopper whispers, "…here." He sounds a little happy about something, and there's a pause for the sound of slurping before Sanji says:

"He asleep?"

Usopp tenses under the covers, nervous, knowing that Sanji and Chopper are probably looking at him now. He keeps his eyes shut and doesn't move.

_Sneaky bastard,_ Booga-shaka hisses. _Already looking for a chance to get back at me. He'll kick me in the back of the head when I'm not looking, or pull out his knives and gut me like a tuna. Or maybe he'll put something in the food…_

_No, no, that's not right at all, _Usopp protests. His stomach tries to worm its way downward, both horrified _at_ the thought and horrified that could even _think_ it, because some part of his brain insists that _Sanji would_ _never ever _ever_, _especially_ not the food_ is a _plain fact_. Yet, somehow, that conviction is slippery and hard to pin down, like a wriggling eel. He half waits, half tries not to wait, for the warning movement of air, the quick shuffle of a foot going into motion—

"Trying to, I think," Chopper says, sounding a bit reproachful. "Now get out of here with that! It's smoking up my sick bay!"

"I'm goin', I'm goin'." Sanji's footfalls back to the door to the galley are steady, but soft, and Booga-shaka relaxes a little, puzzled. "Hey, Chopper, if he needs anything, even just to re-warm that—"

"I'll get you, don't worry." Chopper says, slurping at something again. "I think it's more important that he rests right now."

It's a bit hard to tell when Sanji's gone and shut the door behind him because it's done so quietly, but at length Booga-shaka agrees that he really did. Usopp relaxes.

"There's some hot cider here for you if you want it, Usopp," Chopper says, and he tenses again. Had Chopper known … ? He presses his lips together, keeps his eyes closed and pretends like he's really been asleep the whole time, like he didn't hear Chopper at all.

"…well, let me know if you want it later…" Chopper says just as Usopp is beginning to think he won't speak again. The rolling chair shifts a little and the grinding of mortar and pestle picks up again, after a sound that might have been a sigh. _Hadn't been trying all that hard to fool the doctor anyway,_ he thinks.

Only the cook.

Of course.

* * *

As he explains what he knows about what happened down in the hold, Zoro finds it hard to judge what Luffy's thinking. To be entirely fair, however, he's still not quite sure how to position himself on the whole issue of Usopp. It's not so much the protecting Usopp that he has a problem with—he's more than happy to do that. The problem is protecting the crew _from_ Usopp, and even from _themselves_. The latter is something Zoro's never really needed to do before.

He's pissed at Sanji for acting as if he could expect Usopp to discern friend from foe in the middle of a surprise fight. A few weeks of calm sailing without further incidents, and even the cook, who definitely should have been one of those to _think_, to _know better_, lets his guard down. Gets surprised. Gets himself nearly shot through the head like two of their more unfortunate boarders. The fact that he is fast enough to get out of the way, but wasn't willing to _because _Robin was right behind him, only makes it doubly aggravating. _If you don't think someone's capable—don't let them bring up your rear!_

Idiot.

It leads Zoro to wonder who else on this crew is foolishly assuming that with a little bit of food and a little bit of bandages, Usopp'll be "back to himself" soon enough? Wasn't it enough of a hint when he struck out at Luffy with a _scalpel_? Zoro had understood from the minute they found him locked up and half starved to death in a room with a couple of dead bodies that he wouldn't be normal for months and months yet—maybe not ever.

Yet now … Usopp leaving for somewhere safer …. Zoro eyes Luffy poking one of the dead invaders in the arm, again noting the lack of a straw hat on his captain's head. No, it goes without saying that Luffy is even further from accepting that idea. Zoro can guess who that hat is with, and, while he did think sending Usopp back to East Blue was a sensible idea, no one was really willing to accept it the first time it had been suggested. They'd gone into Mariejoa fighting with such confidence and determination … such hope. _Their crew would be back together, and they would get on with everything they wanted to do. Simple as retrieving one wayward sniper._

Or not.

The Celestials were lucky that Luffy and the rest of the crew had been preoccupied with getting Usopp out as fast as possible. There probably wouldn't have been nearly as much of Mariejoa left if they'd all felt free to loiter around and pin down the bastards most responsible.

Zoro has to push down the bloodthirsty fury still lurking in his thoughts. The biggest problem with it all is, this isn't a matter honor in a fight, or of Usopp having wronged them or … anything like that, where it would be so easy, so necessary, to stand firm on the issue of him going or staying. Usopp's been wronged here, too. Telling him to get out … Usopp's not the one that ought to be punished for all this. Though Zoro doesn't like having the crew at risk from what is essentially a loose cannon, and though Usopp would be far safer outside of the New World altogether anyway, he can't overlook the fact that Luffy seems to be making headway where, perhaps, no one else can. The idea of sending Usopp away has even started to leave the distinctive, repugnant flavor of _giving up_ in Zoro's mouth.

He doesn't like _giving up_ any more than he likes loose cannons.

"Okay," Luffy declares at length, straightening and folding his arms across his chest, "They're definitely dead."

Zoro quirks an eyebrow.

Luffy scratches at his head. "We probably shouldn't leave Usopp alone when there's a fight. At least, not for a while. He gets too freaked out and he still isn't feeling well."

Zoro grunts an assent. It's a first step, and Zoro would go one more. They should have Franky track down and secure all the dangerous weaponry, too. And then someone will always have to be with Usopp…. It's doable. Not easy—but doable. _For how long?_ would be the real question, but it would likely take only one or two more surprise fights to know.

Sounding discontent, Luffy hums to himself. "It's too bad he doesn't have all his cool gadgets to fight with instead anymore. Wonder why he hasn't made a new weapon yet?"

Zoro snorts. "Luffy, I don't think he remembers what he used to fight with."

Contemplative silence from Luffy, then— "Oh! That makes sense. I was starting to forget he forgot everything."

_Typical._ Zoro wonders what Usopp would have picked to fight the invaders with if he'd had the option, then, with a shake of his head, shoves the thought aside as a rather pointless exercise in wishful thinking. "We should get rid of this mess before Nami or Chopper comes down here and starts screaming about it. The love-cook probably needs to decide how much of this rice to get rid of, too. And then we all need to sit down and make sure everyone knows what's going on."

For now, at least, Luffy knows how seriously Zoro is taking this, and how much more seriously the crew needs to, before someone looses a head or a limb or something. For anyone except himself, Robin, or Franky, it would be way too inconvenient.

"Okay. Let's get Sanji, then." Luffy tips his head to the side a little, still thoughtful. "I wonder why they tried to get into our food instead of Nami's treasure chest? These boarders didn't make any sense at all. They couldn't even fight very good," he comments as they head out of the room. "But I guess they got hungry in the middle. It happens to me sometimes."

"Yeah, maybe … " Zoro glances back one last time before they go through the doorway and the bodies are blocked from view. He tries to remember whether the other boarders he'd fought had looked as gaunt as these two do, but can't quite imagine such details. An enemy was an enemy, and the shape of them had never mattered much unless it affected how he had to fight.

In any case, Zoro has already filed the observation away. What the boarders had tried opening first could be important.

It could also be nothing that mattered at all.

Sanji, to Zoro's mild surprise, doesn't get too upset by the ruined food. He doesn't ask many questions either, but the silence from him thoughtful—almost broody, and Zoro's not sure he likes a broody cook any better than an irate cook.

Nami tracks them down just as Zoro and Sanji have quietly dumped the two bodies, wrapped in extra bedsheets, off one side of the ship. Luckily, she doesn't seem to have seen what they were doing, and since Zoro's not in the mood for a round of freaked-out questioning, he says nothing. Sanji, for his part, drops the moody look and puts on a game face, lighting up another cigarette and giving Nami a pleased smile as he greets her. Maybe he's not totally faking the pleasure, though, since this is _Sanji_ he's talking about, and Nami is still a _woman_. Luffy just blinks, as if they hadn't been doing anything weird at all—good thing too, because Luffy doesn't even have a game face.

Nami says, like the demanding sea-witch she is, they need to furl the sails, _now_. Something about running aground.

_Great._ This mess, and another island.

* * *

Nami had known all the snow built up on the deck might be a problem in a fight, but since it all starts so suddenly, she doesn't even have a chance to try to change the weather. Post-battle is when she finally gets the time she needs to try and clear the clouds, or at least change the snow to rain. So she tries, but gently, so that the break-up won't be violent. It doesn't get her very far.

The flakes keep coming down, the most difference being in their change from stinging bits to soft clumps. The clumps cling stubbornly to her lashes as she glares up at the sky with an accusing frown. There is actually something weird about this system, she decides—not that Grand Line weather isn't normally weird, but something about this particular system is weirder than most.

Nami taps one of the fingers she has curled around her Clima Tact up and down. Obviously, more extreme measures will be required to get rid of the snow, but she's not ready to risk creating an extremely unstable weather system when they have to sail in the middle of it. Not unless it's imperative, anyway, and at the moment, it doesn't seem to be. Their attackers won't be coming back for a while, if they ever do.

She sighs. For now, they're stuck with a snowstorm.

"Huh. Was that 'spossed to do something?" Franky queries from the helm. Nami feels a prick of irritation at being questioned, but she does her best to ignore him.

There is another force at work here, and it isn't natural. Unfortunately, this still leaves her with more questions than answers. She glances at the Log Pose and a corner of her mouth quirks up, concern turning that curve into an uncertain line. Wherever they're going, they're heading straight for this storm's source. _Hostile boarders, explosive cannon fire from out of nowhere, weird weather … none of it sits right. Even Usopp would be hard pressed to get an accurate shot off with this kind of visibility._

Nami turns to Franky. "Be ready for landfall. We're coming to an island."

One of his eyebrows lifts to a point noticeably above the rim of his sunglasses, a definite _how can you even tell that?_ "How're we even gonna know we're coming to land before we run into it?"

She waves a hand: _I'm your navigator. Don't insult me._ The system might be weird, but it's still weather, all the same. She can feel its source clearly enough. "We'll be there within half an hour. I hope you're prepared for more snow where the rest of it came from."

Jerking one oversized thumb at his chest, he says, "I spent two years in a blizzard. A few puny flakes of ice ain't gonna freeze up my gears."

She snorts, though, most likely, not loudly enough for him to hear over the wind. "I'm going to tell the others we're not far from the next island. We need to furl the sails."

She moves toward the galley, thinking of the hot drink Sanji's sure to have made for her already. She could use it. Her nose is starting to feel like a misplaced lump instead of a part of her face, and she hunches over, both hoping to spare her nose the cold wind and keep a careful eye on her footing.

The only person she comes across on her way to the lawn deck is a collapsed invader. He is rather close to falling off the ship entirely, but his groaning is evidence that he is still alive—not that that's too great a matter of great importance, as long as he isn't going to attack her. So when he starts trying to grab at her leg as she passes, Nami finds it worth her while to help him … exit the ship the rest of the way. Creep.

Her frown turns sour as she moves on. Honestly, someone on this crew is getting lazy—leaving a half-finished battle like that.

She finds Sanji, Zoro and Luffy heading back up the stairs toward the galley. _Good,_ she thinks. It's the lazy people likely responsible for leaving enemies lying around. If they're that bored with fighting, it's time to put them to work. "Hey, you three! Enough standing around," Nami calls out after them. The corner of Zoro's mouth twitches downward just slightly once he looks at her, but Sanji's smiling acknowledgement of her presence as he lights up another cigarette tells her at least one person is going to listen without complaint.

"If you don't want to beach this boat, you'll get on the rigging and furl the sails, _now_."

"Aye-aye, Nami-swan!" Sanji song-songs, hurrying off immediately. Now his usual impassive, Zoro nods, heading to the rigging without further comment or protest, thankfully. Only Luffy lingers, expression brighter than before.

"Hey, does that mean we're coming to an island?"

"Yes, Luffy," Nami sighs. "A snowy, cold island."

Luffy grins that wide, eager, _gonna have an adventure!_ smile of his, then he goes the way of Zoro and Sanji without needing further urging. It makes her smile a little herself, despite the cold.

They manage to avoid running straight into the island's cliffs, since Nami hears the waves crashing against them in time to order a turn to the side. After sailing along the cliffs for a little while, they come to a small harbor, inside which the land slopes down to meet the sea. The harbor is large enough for a few decently sized ships to sail into, drop anchor, and still keep a safe distance between themselves. As it turns out, however, both the Strawhat crew and the _Thousand Sunny_ are very much alone.

"Docks," Nami declares, peering through binoculars at the long, flat shapes stemming from the shore. "They look unused, though. There aren't any ships tied up at them."

Luffy, at the railing, is bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet as they pull up and drop an anchor. A quick check by Zoro and Sanji—if anyone's going to fall through an old, decrepit dock into these freezing waters, they're the best candidates—determines that the structures underneath a heavy layer of snow are still in good condition.

"I'd say most of this wood was replaced recently enough, Nami-san," Sanji calls up, tone as cheerful with her as ever. "Some of it's barely even weathered yet."

"A few of the pylons, too. And what's older looks solid," Zoro adds, a hand resting on his katana. His attention wanders along the dock he stands on, towards the shore.

They're close enough now that Nami can pick out the shapes of buildings on land, town-like in size and height, but how much farther they continue inland is shrouded by snowfall. Despite the fact that it's the middle of the day, she doesn't see any people walking around. Even the layer of snow on the docks is smooth, waist-deep, hill-like, except for where Sanji and Zoro have been. _The lack of people or even boats in port …_ A chill travels down her spine, and she notices Zoro's unscarred eye narrow at the empty-looking town. _Is this some kind of trap … or something worse?_

* * *

A/N: I'm baaaack. And in half the time this round. I feel so plotty writing them coming to this island. Especially since I'm planning more on that evilest of Celestials at least one of you wished Luffy would get his hands on. It may take a bit to get there, though, so I wouldn't pull out the shovels and pitchforks just yet... in the meantime, I'll be over in my daydream corner thinking of all the scenes and plot twists I'm dying to write.


	12. In the Offing

**The Psychology of a Shattered Mind**  
by Liashi  
12: In the Offing

_The day Usopp meets Saint Iddis' mother, Saint Venosa, he's cleaning the stairs. They lead from the mansion main floor up through the multi-level tower that is entirely Iddis' domain. Lady Adel, since she is constantly looking after Iddis, has a room on the same level as the tower's kitchen. Usopp's almost cleaned his way to the bottom with his rag and bucket of soapy water—there's only one more flight__. He can see the door to the rest of the mansion, and the silent guard that stands by it._

_No opportunities there. Besides, shackled like this on both wrists and ankles … Zoro might be able to use it to his advantage, maybe getting someone with the chains and choking them, or even breaking the bonds altogether, or _something_, but himself?_

_No, the only thing it means is that he can't run very fast, whether he has a good opportunity or not._

_With a small sigh, __Usopp keeps scrubbing the landing, but spares a glance for the nearby window, which is surrounded by low, decorative relief in gold. Still, he looks past all that finery to a much more appealing sky filled with high, wispy clouds. _Would be a nice day for sailing,_ he thinks, and since there's no point in further considering escape at the moment, he closes his eyes and pretends he's scrubbing the deck of the _Sunny_ and not a marble floor, and that he can feel a strong breeze filling the sails above him._

_He's so intent on his scrubbing and the imagining of a warm Grand Line day that he barely registers the sound of someone mounting the staircase, enough only to move himself and his bucket well out of the way. The__ rapid, clipped steps continue going up, so he only glances at the person's back for long enough to identify them as a woman, Saint Venosa, if her flower-print robes and hairstyle are anything to go by. There's a picture of her with Saint Gathram and Saint Iddis on the wall of Saint Iddis' room, the whole group looking unnaturally serious, like they don't enjoy posing together at all. Lady Adel had pointed the image out and explained the relationship between them.  
_

_Apparently she's not here for Usopp, which is just fine._

_When the sound of her steps fade, Usopp looks out to the sky again, and keeps scrubbing. He's moved on to the top steps of the last flight when the footsteps begin to descend in his direction once more. He keeps on working, content to be ignored._

_This time, t__he steps stop beside him. Unexpected, but—he hasn't done anything that would make her angry. She couldn't be angry. Just curious, perhaps. Pointy toed shoes peek out from the split in her robes. He only begins to sweat when something catches under his chin and draws his face upward. The feathers edging it tickle his neck._

_Saint Venosa smiles down at him, not with anything like the playful amusement favored by Robin, but with something predatory, her slightly crooked teeth peeking out from behind bright red lips. He remembers, then, that looking them in the face is a bad idea, and drops his gaze to the floor. Somewhere below the rest of him, his arms keep right on scrubbing, probably hoping she goes back to ignoring him once she sees whatever it is she wants to see. Lady Adel's stories are echoing faintly in his head and growing a sickening pit in his gut._

_"Funny, Iddis didn't even mention you."_

_He has no idea what that is supposed to mean._

_A firm grip covered by silken fabric replaces the feather-edged fan. Saint Venosa pulls him up by his chin, forcing him to stand, then turns his head back and forth. His arms keep working in the air a moment before going still and dropping the rag altogether._

_She leans in, her face close enough that if he tried to bend over he'd knock right into it. She hums, and her hand strokes his cheek. "You must not even be a day over eighteen. You still have such darling baby fat…" His eyes fasten onto the movement of her wrist covered in silken teal and his chest constricts. All sorts of alarms are sounding in his head, given the sickly sweet in her tone and the honeyed amusement in her smirk, but the urge to run—run fast, run far—is only good for setting his nerves on fire and bringing everything into dizzying focus. He presses backward into the wall, so rigid he doesn't even tremble._

_She leans in, close enough that her breath ghosts over his cheek. "Perhaps I should make you mine," she whispers, a particular emphasis on the last word. He keeps his gaze locked on the floor. The fire spreads to the hard pit in his gut, turning him queasy. _

_A__ slap to his cheek, with the same hand that had been caressing him moments before, stings, though only faintly. Everything begins to float, dream-like and distant. Trying to pretend this isn't happening, he keeps staring at the same spot on the stairs so long and hard that it starts to blur._

_It doesn't make sense. He didn't say anything to her. He didn't even look at her, not until she pulled him to his feet._

_"Lewd, vulgar thing!" Another slap snaps his head the other way. "How dare you approach me in such a manner—"_

_But he didn't—didn't say_ anything_—_

_More blows split his lip and set his ears ringing. Most of his instincts tell him to run, but common sense keeps ahead for once, leaving him frozen on the spot. Trying to get away would only make this worse. She might get annoyed and pull her gun, or activate the collar, or get the guards to stop him._

_She hits him so hard that his head snaps around and he can see the staircase behind him out of the corner of his eye. The bottom, even of this one flight, seems very far away. Alarmed, he tries to throw his arms out to grab for the railing, but the chain stops the motion far short._

_A painful jab forces his most solidly planted foot from its place, and a hand shoves him even more off-balance, backward. His arms try to pinwheel, but mostly just flail, still restricted by the chains. He can feel the empty air behind him, where the steps descend. He realizes with a horrifying lurch that there is no way he can catch himself. It's a long way down, falling in this direction._

_Saint Venosa, her fan once again spread open and held before the lower half of her face, stares down with wide and glinting eyes, further down, and down and down and down—_

* * *

Usopp flails blindly, trying to catch himself from falling.

_No_.

No, he isn't falling, though he had fallen _asleep_, he realizes, relaxing as awareness rushes in and the bed registers. Rubbing at his eyes, he wonders how long he'd been out. He feels hot and heavy, and his limbs move only sluggishly. It takes a determined effort to get up the momentum to push the blankets back and shift around to a more comfortable, less sweaty position.

The ship … it's stopped moving.

This is another jolt, but a different one. He's not sure what to think of it, except to feel slight relief that there doesn't seem to be another attack going on, since everything is fairly quiet. The sounds in the room are different now, not the grinding of a mortar and pestle, but of a pen going _scritch-scritch_ on paper.

Nami's the only one in the room, and Usopp sits up, breath catching. Just her, no weapon held close, sitting with her back to him. Same as Chopper had been—but at least at least his nose and ears are many times more sensitive.

_Didn't they learn anything—didn't they learn anything _at all_?_

_It's almost disgusting, this level of trust__ and naivety,_ Booga-shaka muses. _Master would love to crush it if he had a chance._

He clamps down on that train of thought, hard. Bringing his legs over the side of the bed and watching to see if Nami notices what he's doing, he feels like he's back in the Ring somehow. His heartbeat quickens. _Need to be silent, light, swift, a part of the shadows cast by the columns and broken-down walls—_

He feels like he might be choking, like the air is too close, and he needs to _get out_. He grabs for Luffy's hat under the blankets, drawing a small amount of comfort from the fact that it's there with him. Nami still hasn't looked at him, instead tracing, with careful concentration, a squiggly line on her paper. When she sighs a little, leans back, and starts stretching, he knows he will get no better chance.

The door to the galley and dining area opens without a sound and Usopp slips through it. Though he crouches low, he hopes there's no one in the room, because crouching can only help so much if he's moving right into someone's line of sight.

It's empty.

The sense of being trapped starts to lift a little. Now feeling chilled instead of hot, he crosses the dining area and peeks out the door to the outside. It's still snowing, but the deck seems clearer than he remembers. Beyond the port side, he can see a shoreline, where fuzzy and angular shapes suggest buildings standing in the haze of snow.

A voice, not too deep but still rich and lilting, and accompanied by the clear notes of a violin, floats down from somewhere above and behind. The words are a bit muffled by the angle, but by the references to brooms and washing, Usopp judges it to be a song about cleaning. Or maybe a song about being finished with it, he amends, since the rather joyous line "now pour me another … cheers!" doesn't sound like it refers to soap.

Faint steps behind him, the movement of air from the door to the sick bay opening, and a feminine voice: "Usopp? Usopp—"

He shuts the door to the deck and whirls, one hand lingering on the handle. Fear stabs at him, laced with guilt.

_Caught, you've been caught—you idiot—_

* * *

_It's so easy to startle him. This is e__xactly what Zoro was so concerned about, _Nami sighs to herself when she manages to surprise Usopp simply by coming into the galley, calling for him. It's all starting to give her a headache. Zoro had warned her quite pointedly not to turn her back on Usopp for too long, given his apparent penchant for running off, getting into trouble—and then _creating_ some. Nami supposes that's sensible, though she wonders how long it will take for Usopp to realize he's being followed around all the time, and then how he will feel about _that_. He doesn't mean to create problems, she's sure.

He just _needs_. So much.

They all need to sit down and talk about this again, she thinks, but for the moment, even Zoro had felt that they should first determine if the island town was really abandoned, or if something else was going on. So, with that first order of business clear, Chopper, Robin, Zoro, Sanji and Luffy had all gone to explore. Chopper, she had been reluctant to send off in case something happened here, but he _is_ the one with the nose, and probably the best for determining if anyone'd actually been in the area recently. Robin had gone, so there would some brains in the expedition, and Sanji and Zoro, also, for numbers and for sheer fighting power—just in case it _is_ some sort of trap.

Luffy, well—he was going no matter what anyone said.

It puzzles her a little that Usopp would get up and leave so quietly without saying anything—but maybe he's used to moving that way now. She didn't hear him at all, which is the part most surprising. He _could_ sneak very quietly before, yes, but never so … consistently. He was always a bit clumsy, and reactive, and that meant he tended to give himself away. It hadn't been that long since she last checked on him, however, so he hasn't gone any farther than the galley. That, at least, is a relief.

He almost looks guilty, like he's been caught doing something he knows he shouldn't have been. She's still not quite sure how present he really is these days, since it was only a few weeks ago that he would spend hours and hours staring out at the ocean, seeming not to notice much of anything else that was happening on the ship.

Nami tries to keep it casual. She goes over to the fridge. Sanji had assured her, before leaving with the exploratory group, that there was plenty of food ready and waiting for her—and Usopp's—consumption.

It's none too soon, because now Usopp's starting to look distant, somewhere _else_. Nami doesn't like it. "Hey, Usopp—are you hungry?" After opening the door, she grabs one of several plates Sanji left for anyone to eat and holds it up. "Sanji went ashore with the group scoping out the island, but he left something for you."

The fear that shows up on his face at that startles her, and she puts the plate back, pursing her lips. _Right, get him to eat something if he wakes up, Chopper says. He forgot to mention how to achieve that if food makes him freak out, now, too._

"Brook and Franky stayed behind as well," she says, trying to buy herself more time to think, and to figure out what to do. She want to keep his mind occupied with simple things, keep it away from whatever darker thoughts are lurking … "I have them out there clearing the decks off better."

Silence from Usopp, who shifts uncomfortably, now looking anywhere but her. _Or maybe it's not the food,_ Nami realizes, Robin's recounting of the battle and the near-disaster on the roof with Usopp and Sanji coming back to her and starting to fit in with other facts. Usopp didn't remember _them_. Didn't remember _Syrup_. Which meant he didn't remember what it meant for people to care about you.

It all falls into place then, in ways she hadn't quite considered. Her hand tightens on the fridge handle until her knuckles turn white.

_And how paranoid would _you _be if the only people you ever knew were ones like Arlong?_

Usopp's looking at the door to the deck, the set of his shoulders tense. She takes a deep breath—has to take a second breath, too—and looks back into the fridge, resolutely ignoring the pricks at the corners of her eyes.

* * *

He fingers the handle of the door to the deck, trying to weigh the risk of doing so against his curiosity about the singing. Nami's not quite paying attention to him again, but if he tries to slip out the door, she might notice the outside breeze or the change in temperature before he could get all the way out.

_Sneaking … why did I have to do that her__e?_

Something doesn't quite make sense, and he rubs at his temples, trying to get the odd tension in his head to fade. It takes a mental effort to get his jaw unclenched.

A hum of pleasure from the direction of the fridge draws his attention. Nami's leaning on the counter with one elbow, lifting a tart filled with yellow cream from a plate piled with pastries, to her mouth. The pastries ooze whipped cream, fruit, and chocolate, and gleam with sugar glaze. His stomach pinches. He clenches at his coat, forcing himself to tear his gaze away.

"These were for anyone," Nami says, as if he had asked. The plate scrapes against the counter faintly. "You want one?"

It could be a bad idea—

_But Nami's eating them, and he wouldn't want to hurt others trying to get to him, would he? Very likely those are safe …_

_Wait a bit, see if she drops dead or gets sick?_

He half watches, half pretends to ignore Nami eating a few more pastries. His stomach doesn't just pinch now, it growls, and his grip on his coat tightens. She doesn't show any ill effects as the moments wear on, and Usopp almost begins to feel like he's being unjustifiably paranoid. At the same time, he knows that there are _awful_ prices to pay if you aren't when you should have been …

_Careful then, slowly, slowly …_

His mouth is beginning to water by time he's inched close enough to smell the sugar and chocolate. He waits a little bit, then slowly reaches out for one, watching Nami the whole time. When she looks over, he freezes, holding off for her blessing.

She only smiles—calmly, no triumph, nor warning in it. Just welcome. There is a faint tension, too, like she might be tightly controlling herself, but he's not entirely sure of that. Her stance remains relaxed.

"Go ahead," she says, popping the last bite of her current pastry into her mouth and taking another from the other side of the pile. He does his best to ignore the apprehension tightening his chest and takes a bite.

The faint tension he thought he saw in Nami's smile melts, for sure, into something gentler.

* * *

Chopper, trotting in Walk Point through the loose-packed, shallower snow in the middle of the road, twitches an ear in Robin's direction as she gives a faint, but thoughtful, hum. Luffy had wanted to explore a road that headed diagonally through the rightmost side of town. To no one's surprise, Sanji had only reluctantly gone with Luffy, not wanting to part from Robin until she herself recommended it. After that, Robin, Zoro, and Chopper had continued down this road heading straight inland, looking for who-knew-what. Although most of the buildings have overhangs that would offer some shelter from the falling snow, the gusty wind ensures that snow has collected in deep drifts underneath them, leaving the trio stuck out in the weather just so they can get somewhere.

Another gust blows small pricks of ice into Chopper's eyes, and he blinks. As something in the distance bangs, he jerks his head to the side for a better look. The sound comes over and over, and he soon spots a door swaying open and shut. He sighs in relief and looks ahead once more. Other than their footfalls, the faint clinking of Zoro's earrings and swords, and other random, fairly easily discounted sounds such as the swaying door, the town is silent and empty. They come across nothing—not even prints in the snow or faint scents in the wind.

Eyes searching the empty street, Chopper shudders, tempted to go into Guard Point for no reason he can really identify. He chides himself for the impulse. Zoro and Robin don't look scared in the least, and he spent two years without any of his crewmates, anyway. There's no way anything's gonna happen to him with both Zoro and Robin here, right? Right!

The least he can be, as a man of his experience, is a little confident.

Still, something about this empty town is making his fur crawl. Like maybe it's filled with ghosts hiding just around the corners, waiting for the right moment to jump out at them. Although Chopper supposes he's been to a place like that before, so he should be able to take this place being similar, right? Right…

Robin turns aside, and Zoro keeps right on walking, so Chopper lets out a warning yelp, dashing ahead to make sure he doesn't wander off. "What_ now_?" Zoro grumbles, stopping.

"Wrong way, Zoro!" He jerks his head in Robin's direction. "Over here!" As Chopper trots over to her, he keeps one eye on Zoro to make sure the man's following. If there's one thing that never changes, it's Zoro's sense of direction.

"What now?" Zoro repeats as he steps up behind Robin and Chopper. "There's no one in town to open this bookstore, let alone sell you anything."

Robin's peering through the large show window of the bookstore, almost at an angle to see the back of the shop's door. Chopper blinks as he hears the clunking and clicking of locks being undone from inside. A hand sprouts from the outside wall, grabs the doorknob, and shoves the door open.

Robin smirks back at Zoro and Chopper. "My, my. It seems some careless person has left the shop unlocked. Perhaps we should take the opportunity to browse?"

Zoro snorts and follows Robin inside. Chopper looks back and forth down each side of the street just to make sure no one's watching, sniffs the wind one last time, then heads in as well. He draws the door shut with a hind leg as he enters, hooves clacking against the bare wood floor. The show window rattles faintly. It's only marginally warmer within the shop, and that's mostly because they're sheltered from the wind here.

Chopper sniffs around the entrance, but any scent that isn't theirs is very, very old, and almost indiscernible from the dust. "Nobody's been around here in a while, either," he muses, half to himself and half to let Zoro and Robin know, then he glances about the store.

It seems untouched, for the most part, like someone just locked up for the night the other day. The only thing neglected by whoever was here last is shelving duty, as there are a few books lying on the floor in various places. Robin pulls a book from the still decently stocked shelves and thumbs through it. Zoro wanders over to another shelf and stands there staring at it with crossed arms. Chopper's not sure if Zoro's actually interested in some books or just killing time while Robin browses, but, he admires Zoro's completely cool manner a moment anyway, before heading off to find the medical section. At some length, Robin speaks again, her voice carrying well in the small space of the shop.

"This town is proving to be quite the study." Chopper can hear the _whump_ of a book closing, then faint scraping as it's replaced on the shelf and another is pulled.

Zoro hums, sounding possibly interested in a very manly and aloof sort of way. His measured steps move quietly down his selected row.

"The buildings here," Robin continues, "Weren't designed for this kind of weather. The walls are thin and uninsulated. Many windows have no ready covering. I even noticed a few collapsed rooftops."

"Oh, I didn't even think about architecture!" Chopper says. He's not quite sure where she's going with this, but Robin's always so smart about these sorts of things, so it must be important.

Now back in Brain Point, his ears twitch forward when he finally spots an interesting title on the spine of a book high up on the shelf:_ Diseases of the Jiho Island Group_. He's never even heard of the Jiho Islands! With a grin, he hops several times, waving his arms in an attempt to reach the book, but he only manages to make himself a little winded. He's just thought of going into Heavy Point so he can get taller when Zoro wanders up from around the near end of the shelves, selects the book, and hands it down.

Chopper grins up at him in thanks. Zoro returns the smile briefly before looking in the direction of Robin's voice again, leaning against the shelf with one elbow. "So? You think the locals got run out of town by a little bad weather or something? If they were that cold they shoulda just put on some coats."

A brief glance through a few pages of the book in his hooves reassures Chopper that he does want it. Detailed symptom synopses, current and past standard treatments, related diseases….

Robin comes up from the far side of the row, a stack of books already in her arms. "Our boarders sought food and not treasure. A massive weather change would be very likely to decimate typical crops on a summer island … though famine may only be one motivation for the abandonment of this island's main settlement and only port."

"Only port?" Zoro questions.

"Summer island?" Chopper asks at nearly the same time. Robin extends a hand, and when he hands up his book, she adds to the bottom of the stack in her arms. After that, she picks up a thin volume sitting on the top of the collection, and opens it to a two-page spread of a map showing a strangely curvy island in the shape of a long water drop. "In the 'local books' section."

Leaning in closer to the pages, Zoro reads aloud: "Summer Island 'Tallu.'"

"Also known as 'Nine Storms Island'," Robin supplies, closing the book once more. "Famous for its nearly constant rainfall and year-round warm weather, the waterfalls cascading from the high shoreline cliffs into the sea are—or, I suppose, _were_—one of its more famous identifying features. The tropical weather and scenery, as well as the island's proximity to the Red Line, also made it one of the few well-frequented places here in the New World."

"So … it's normal for there to be a big storm here, just not a big _snow_storm?" Chopper asks, feeling even more creeped-out by the empty streets. He likes the cold and the snow, sure, 'cause it reminds him of Drum, but given that it doesn't sound at all right for this place …

He has to shake himself to keep his imagination from running too far away with what might have happened to everyone that used to live here.

"Yes," Robin says, heading to the front. One arm sprouts from the bookstore counter and begins writing up a receipt. "Though all this tells us very little about the change in weather."

"Weather's always changing on the Grand Line. When did it start needing a reason?" Zoro sounds dismissive.

Robin smiles back at Zoro. Drawing the brown sack from her shoulders, she puts the stack of books inside. "Moment to moment, things do change. But such a massive change in an island's general climate? Possible, of course, but not all that likely, even for the Grand Line. Need I remind you of Crocodile's weather manipulation with Dance Powder? The locals blamed it on weather change. They were wrong." Pulling a small satchel of Berry from her overcoat's pocket, she leaves the appropriate amount of money sitting on top of the carbon copy of the receipt. The sack goes back over her shoulder. "In any case, I advise proceeding here with caution. If it is indeed deliberate, turning an entire island into a frozen wasteland seems like a rather hostile course of action—a quick and unselective way to bring a few extra corpses into the world."

* * *

A/N: I've tentatively set an update goal of a chapter every two months, on or around the 20th. This one's early because I had a job interview, which I survived, and my beta/brainstorming partner is visiting me for the weekend. Yay!

(And said beta, Night_Mare_Chan, adds: Dahahahaha. You all can thank me later~) If you say so, Night_Mare_Chan, if you say so …


	13. Ballast

**The Psychology of a Shattered Mind**  
by Liashi  
13: Ballast

_Hands grab at him, pull him, roll him, and pain sparkles in his head like fireworks before fading into the disorientating black._

_You broke him, you broke _mine_._

_The incensed shrieking that rises coherent above a jumble of sound leaves behind ringing and hissing. He'd groan and curl up except for the fact that he can't figure out where most of the sensations making it through the black are even coming from. It's dawning on him that he must have developed a bad case of Never-should-have-gotten-out-of-bed-itis rather quickly since this morning, and it's showing some unfortunate secondary complications._

_Why can't she ever leave my things_ alone_?_

_He is content to leave a great deal of things alone if they just leave him alone too—_

_Hands grab his upper arms on each side and haul him to his feet. With his eyes open, the world registers as blurred white, so he closes them again. The dark shows off the occasional fireworks better anyway, and looking at the black doesn't make him even more dizzy than he already is, either._

_A woman's voice, and a young voice—the woman's tightly controlled, and trying to calm the younger._

_Nami? Chopper?_

_Must be, must be them—if he's hurt there's been a battle, but if they're here, it may also be over. Relief blossoms in his chest, though something niggles at the back of his mind about the hands holding him upright. If two of these four are Chopper's—it's funny, they're smooth, not furry._

_"Mm Chopper, d'ya shave?"_

_There's a strange silence at the question, before the hands urge him along. Oh well. Maybe it was for an embarrassing reason—gum stuck in his fur or something—and Chopper doesn't want to talk about it. He makes the barest pretense of actually trying to climb the stairs the hands are pulling him up, and doesn't care when they finally let go and he simply plops down onto the floor, unable to stay standing. He's still trying to deal with the sensation of the entire world spinning._

_Chopper—Chopper'll fix it in a minute. It's okay._

_I hate her, I hate her, I hate her—_

_Silence._

_What did you think you were doing?_

_Look at me—_

_Booga-shaka?_

_Nami crouches in front of him, but he can't focus on her, his vision swimming and swaying. Again he gets the feeling of something not quite right with Nami either, except …_

_The ringing grows louder, and his head starts throbbing harder, and logical thought disintegrates. "M'not Booga-shaka," he mutters, grabbing onto the words instead because they're one of the few things making sense at the moment. Besides, he's mildly insulted at being called something that sounds that goofy—by Nami, of all people. "M'the Great Capt'n Usopp." _

_Great Captain Usopp?_

_Yeah, Great Captain Usopp._

_He shakes his head from side to side very slowly, trying to clear it. The world jiggles, kind of like a big jelly, before settling back to being simply disorientating, and he can't tell if it's been made better or worse than before. "I've got eight loyal … " he rubs at his eyes. That's not quite right. "No, eighty thousand royal followers." The bridge of his nose wrinkles in thought. Something's not quite right about that, either._

_What is he talking about?_

_"You had followers?" Chopper-voice speaks in an oddly familiar whiny tone, from somewhere behind him. It doesn't suit Chopper, really. He must be worried about something._

_"Dun wor'y," he says, tongue getting stuck in odd places in his mouth. He puts more effort into talking clearly, clenching at his ankles in hopes that it the ground will stabilize. "Been push down twen'ny whole flights of stairs before. 'N I was fightin' big hairy monsters at the same time." Chopper's question registers just after this, so he adds: "The eigh'y thousan' followers were good, too, 'cause they could cushion the fall down."_

_Though he next wonders why Chopper needs to ask. Surely he's told him about his followers many, many times before. Nami's head moves, looking up, somewhere. Maybe at Chopper. He seems to be standing behind Usopp, going by the voice._

_"You can't fall down twenty flights of stairs and survive, that's just silly. Not unless you were a monster, too."_

_Chopper's sudden incredulity with regards to his stories is disappointing and worrisome, but Usopp considers this, then nods sagely. "I was pretty hairy, especially back then."_

_Chopper splutters, a reaction only slightly more appropriate—what is wrong with him today?—and Nami laughs. It hurts his head. "Goodnight," says Usopp, and lays down. Maybe if he rests, it'll stop throbbing._

_He's forced upright again. Usopp opens his eyes a crack to glare at Nami, black creeping, spotty, at the edges of his vision. The ringing grows even louder, drowning out her words, though her lips are moving. He tries to hear her, to reach out with his hands, but fresh waves of dizziness grow the blackness even faster, until all thought is overwhelmed and collapses inward under the onslaught._

* * *

_Full consciousness returns only slowly, the in-between filled with garbled voices, nonsensical images and an all-over ache radiating from the back of his skull. _

_Then, for a moment, he's not sure why he finds himself sprawled on the floor with light from tall windows streaming across his face. It's always been dark when Lady Adel has come to—_

_He jerks himself up into a sitting position, the chains that attach him to the floor clinking loudly. He looks around for _that Celestial_._

_Wait, Nami and Chopper had—no, no it doesn't make sense, and those memories are so scattered and confused that, when he concentrates hard, the one thing that seems to clarify is that Nami and Chopper couldn't have been there after all. In fact, he's pretty sure Nami was actually Lady Adel, or maybe someone else entirely, or even just a dream. Otherwise, it doesn't make sense._

_Which is—good, he decides at some length. He wouldn't want them to be trapped here too, since this is more and more something you wouldn't even wish on an _enemy_. _

_The round room that is Saint Iddis' bedroom surrounds him, with no one else to be seen, only plush couches and boxes of toys. He slumps against the footboard of Iddis' bed behind him, relief making him feel a bit weak and dizzy. Nobody here? That's fine. Being alone is becoming highly preferable, given the people that could be around._

_But why she'd picked on him, after he'd entirely minded his own business just like Lady Adel told him to? He knows there's no answer to_ _that question he'll be happy with. There can't be. He's met enough of her type, in all the confrontations he's gotten into with the Strawhats, to be sure of that. Gingerly, he feels at his back and head, wincing as he feels out the extent of the bruising. Next time he's going to run away before that woman gets too close—he's good at it, after all—and hope that Saint Iddis won't mete out something worse than what she would. And at least if Saint Iddis was dishing it out after he actually did something, it wouldn't so shocking._

_A soft thud and then quick, light steps from behind alert him that someone had been sitting on the bed behind, and he straightens up so he's not leaning against the footboard. Saint Iddis' smaller-sized boots only stop in front of him a moment before he goes trotting over to the door to the stairs._

_Usopp twitches slightly when Saint Iddis hollers for Lady Adel, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged room._

_"Yes, I'm coming, coming—" her voice echoes back from the stairwell._

_Saint Iddis returns to Usopp with his arms crossed, and a strange, tight frown on his face. Lady Adel hurries in behind him with a tray in her hands, her long, layered skirt swishing._

_"Feed him," Saint Iddis says, pointing at Usopp and still looking thoroughly ticked._

_"Yes, Saint Iddis," Lady Adel says quietly, and sets the tray on the floor in front of Usopp. She holds out a tall glass of water. "All of it," she says, and pushes the tray closer to Usopp. A large bowl of something thick and lumpy and entirely unappetizing sits on the tray._

_He'll have to make do as best he can. From their expressions, this is not an optional activity—but was anything? He stares at the lumpy-something, then the water, and pretends it's one of Sanji's iced Mango-Pineapple Crush juice drinks. The lumpy-something he can't get to form into anything nearly as nice, since it has a faint aftertaste of Chopper's powdered vitamins. Usopp realizes he's hungry anyway, and works his way through the meal._

_With a shallow bow, Lady Adel excuses herself and goes over to the chair where she keeps an Iddis-sized black robe. She's embroidering it all over with an abstract design in red and gold thread. Saint Iddis remains looming over Usopp with his arms crossed, staring. Usopp begins to feel entirely too self conscious, and he chokes when he tries to wash another bite of the lumpy-something down with the pretend Mango-Pineapple Crush._

_"Adel," Saint Iddis whines, stomping his foot. "Now he's _choking _on it."_

_The hunger turns into a funny, sick feeling when he realizes again that he's being treated like some sort of pet or specimen … or … or maybe a very bad patient of Chopper's? Yeah. The latter, at least, is a slightly less unsettling image._

_He can't quite get the specimen idea out of his head though, and he starts to feel off-balance again, the sick feeling threading deeper into his gut._

_"Would you come here and try this robe on one more time?" Lady Adel says from her chair, sounding entirely unconcerned by Saint Iddis' irritation. "I'm almost done with the embroidery, and I'm sure Saint Gathram will be pleased to see you wearing it at dinner soon."_

_"But—" Usopp can feel Saint Iddis' eyes watching him a moment longer, but thankfully, Usopp has managed to stop choking by clamping down hard on the thick feeling in his throat. "Oh _fine_," Saint Iddis says, turning away at last._

_His shoulders sag in relief, and after a forceful swallow he continues eating the lumpy-something, the sick feeling easing … but only slightly._

* * *

_Usopp wakes from a light doze to find Lady Adel and the finished food tray gone. Really, he doesn't remember falling asleep, and he wonders if there's something wrong with him. There likely is, after that fall, but—he rubs at the side of his head that doesn't throb at the very idea of being touched. It's not like they'd get him a doctor anyway.  
_

_At least it seems like—when he thinks about it—they're still feeding him and keeping him around, despite being injured. This is not to say that Usopp particularly wants to stay around, but since dying is probably the only way slaves leave here, staying around is a lot better than the likely alternatives. From their perspective, Usopp supposes, he is perfectly disposable. Saint Iddis could just buy another slave, easy, but as long as Usopp's still wanted by Iddis, he stays alive._

_He sighs. Better try to stay wanted, then. He'll figure out a way out of here that does not involve death later. Hopefully. He's almost surprised with himself, that he hasn't really given up on that idea yet._

_Saint Iddis lies spread-eagled on the floor on the opposite side of the room. Most of the contents of one of the Celestial's toy boxes are scattered all around his sprawled body. The irritation from earlier looks like it persists under a blank stare of boredom aimed at the ceiling, and Usopp drops his gaze to the floor again._

_He blinks at a book that's lying fallen open in front of him. He hadn't taken much note of it before, but it's close enough to read without touching, if he turns his head to the right angle—_

The Twenty Nobel Kings_, says the title line at the top of the pages. He begins to scan the text, which describes something about the development of Mariejoa, and a King Delphas speaking about the allotment of supplies to another king, Horttan—_

_"Can you read?" demands Saint Iddis' voice, suddenly closer than when Usopp had looked up earlier. Usopp starts and looks away from the book immediately. Maybe if he acts really intimidated, Iddis won't care. Maybe he'll get lucky. Iddis could do _anything_ to him if he's upset his slave was doing something without permission. No one would care what happened to Usopp._

_"I said, slave," Saint Iddis says, now sounding much more annoyed, "Can you read? You're not deaf and I'm asking a question. So answer it."_

_Usopp gives a slight nod, still keeping his gaze on the floor. "Yes … " He wonders why Saint Iddis would even care._

_Saint Iddis kicks him in the knee, just hard enough that it will probably bruise. "That's 'Yes, _Master_.'" He sounds even more irritated now._

_Usopp swallows. "Yes … M-master." The word burns a little, coming out._

_At this, Saint Iddis seems satisfied, and he mutters to himself for a moment. "Hmph … well. I didn't think slaves could do that. … At least _my_ slave isn't totally dumb, then." He bends, picks up the book and tosses it at Usopp's chest. One corner of the book jabs between two of Usopp's ribs rather painfully. "Read it to me, and make it interesting. I'm bored."_

_Saint Iddis walks over to one of the room's plush high-backed chairs and throws himself into it, slouching down and glaring expectantly, one lip jutting out in an unflattering pout._

Make it interesting?

_Usopp fumbles a little as he tries to figure out where he should start reading. He comes across the beginning of the chapter with King Delphas and King Horttan and decides starting the reading _sooner_ is better than starting it _later_, so he clears his throat and takes a breath. Unfortunately he finds himself stumbling over and squeaking at certain things in the passage that are downright alarming._

_"Thus the twenty great and wise kings, the Creators, began to establish the World Government with true firmness. With the daily executions of the violent seed known as the men of D, and the reorganization of the military nearly complete, some of the Twenty's thoughts began to turn to the celebration of their new, more peaceful and unified world. Other kings, however, recognized the need for a capital city as grand as the empire it oversaw…."_

Wait—Executions? Men of D? _Daily? What was this about?_

_The passage goes on without a large portion of Usopp's brain paying attention to the words for a time. He remembers Robin mentioning the Will of D to Rayleigh, asking about it—something about D is important, that much had become apparent to Usopp at some point, except—_

_There's really nowhere for him to take that train of thought. He doesn't know enough, and the book doesn't mention any more about the men of D beyond that one brief phrase. Eventually Usopp remembers what he was reading for, and a surreptitious glance at Saint Iddis reveals that he doesn't seem to be all that entertained by Usopp's efforts so far._

_Great._

_He pauses when he reaches the first line of dialogue. This text isn't much to work with, really. The writer is clearly in awe with how amazing he thinks these kings are, but Usopp knows that stories where everything is sparkly and perfect are never very interesting, unless they're ridiculous enough to compensate._

_Usopp spares another quick glance at Saint Iddis, uncertain. Did Saint Iddis think a lot of these kings? He's bored with this, that Usopp can tell, but would he take issue with changes? Unless he changes something, this is going to be dull no matter how well Usopp reads it._

_Saint Iddis had ordered "entertaining" …_

_He looks between Saint Iddis and the book, swallows hard, sends a silent prayer up to any higher power that might be listening, and plows on ahead before he can think too much more and chicken out from what his storyteller's gut is saying._

_The first actual line of dialogue says something like: "The building of Mariejoa remains an issue of pressing importance, King Delphas."_

_What ends up coming out of Usopp's mouth is: "I _do_ declare, Delphy-man, if we ain't buildin' this little meat-stand, _no one_'s gonna get it done!" with his pitch cranked nearly as high as it will go._

_No time for backing out now. He sniffles loudly, and butchers King Delphas next: "Aib bizzy, 'Orbtan (sniffle)."_

_"You trying to insult me, Delphy?" Here he has to pause briefly to scan ahead. "You're spending all your time in that lame-o garden of yours. We're trying to build an empire here, and all you're adding to it are bushes cut into the shapes of your pet dogs!"_

_No physical blow falls, and Saint Iddis is utterly silent. Usopp doesn't dare look up now. He skips over records of how much marble went into the HQ building in favor of a mention of King Delphas owning a large number of dogs, including one Cerberus, which the king had been an even match with in battle—thus earning the creature's grudging respect._

_In any case, the whole conversation leads into some polite but biting argument between the two kings, which is portrayed as a waste of time when there is city building to be done. The book has the disagreement temporarily broken up with some cheesy platitudes by someone named Galleon the Wise. He mostly skims it. After that, a storm comes, and Usopp embellishes this part into an epic storm to end all storms—sky as black as coal, wind tearing branches from trees, flashes of lightning the only illumination in the driving rain …. King Delphas and King Horttan are forced to work together to weather the storm and protect what has been built._

_Just as King Hortton is about to be hit by a falling stone, Usopp has a mysterious masked hero leap in and save him from certain death. In the book, this "savior" is actually a "loyal servant," who ends up getting squashed, and dying after some parting drivel about how much he loved to serve his lords. Romantic, but also slightly nauseating, for a reason Usopp can't quite put a finger on, engrossed as he is in playing __up_ the story. So instead of the servant, the Great Captain Usopp jumps in and saves the day quite heroically. He manages to survive, too. To the two kings, Usopp supposes, the Great Captain Usopp would prefer to remain a mysterious vigilante, so before they can even learn their hero's name, a seaking jumps up from the ocean. The hero leaps onto its back with a cry of "farewell!" and as the pair vanish, the first rays of sunlight burst through the clouds, illuminating the brilliant white marble of the city….

_The chapter ends there. Usopp closes the book with a nervous cough. He'd definitely gotten carried away. Worried about what Saint Iddis might be thinking—he's still not making a sound—Usopp keeps his head down but inches his gaze up._

_Saint Iddis is still slouched in the chair, looking at Usopp, but his eyes have gone wide. The both of them stare at each other for a long moment. Saint Iddis half-slides, half-jumps from the chair and approaches with slow steps. A bead of sweat tickles at Usopp's temple, and he braces himself for whatever it is that's coming. The words on the open pages begin to blur. The inside of his mouth is starting to feel like cotton balls._

_Did he go too far? Not far enough, if that was even possible? Was the Celestial too shocked, appalled or horrified to even react at the moment?_

_Had he just doomed himself to a horrible fate?_

_Saint Iddis stops in front of him and stares down in silence. More sweat trickles down Usopp's temples, nearly turning to rivulets. One page of the open book in his hands begins to turn on its own, shuddering faintly in the air as it moves—_

_The book is gone._

_Usopp jerks his gaze upwards. The book now held close to his face, Saint Iddis mutters incomprehensibly, sounding like he's reading the text for himself. His brows, curved up with puzzlement, are just visible over the top edge of the book. He leafs back and forth several times, but at length jams the book back into Usopp's hands._

_"Do that … that _thing_ again," he says, eyes still wide, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides._

_Usopp finds himself staring dumbly._

_"That _thing_," Saint Iddis stomps a foot and gesticulates at the book, "Where you read it but—but you _don't_ read it!"_

_A bead of sweat drips from Usopp's chin to the book. "Ah—" Not very intelligible. No, completely unintelligible, but he's still stuck back somewhere at the junction of _What Just Happened Street_ and _I'm Still Alive Lane_._

_"Well, go on!" Saint Iddis throws his hands up. "And do a different part this time!"_

_"Ah—I—right, yes, ah—" Usopp begins looking for the book, not entirely sure where to start. Saint Iddis doesn't go back to the chair, instead plopping down cross-legged on the floor, wiggling his feet impatiently._

_Given a brief reprieve of silence, his shattered equilibrium begins to put itself back together. Well—well, why _shouldn't_ even a World Noble have an appreciation of the fine art of storytelling, anyway! This is no time for the Great Captain Usopp to hesitate! It's only natural that Saint Iddis would be impressed by his skills in this area, right? Right!_

_The corners of Usopp's mouth quirk up as he comes across a chapter detailing one king's explorations, and his discovery of a strange, unknown island._

Maybe,_ he thinks to himself, _It's time for an old fan favorite …

* * *

Brook is the first to notice the woman sitting crossed-legged on the _Sunny_'s lion figurehead, and Franky notices the noticing when the singing stops. Brook, the closer of the two of them, lifts his top hat and bows slightly.

"Ah, excuse me, miss … "

Franky likes to think of himself as easygoing, friendly, at most times. But when he looks at this particular stranger, he feels a twinge of strong dislike, and he pauses in his shoveling to stare at her, and Brook's attempt to begin a civil conversation.

"…might I have the honor of making your acquaintance?"

Franky frowns. When he examines the woman, with her loose ponytail of dirty blonde hair, sallow skin, white, shapeless clothing, and single katana resting across her knees, he feels his dislike grow. Any normal, sane, self-preserving person would typically announce themselves and their presence before jumping up onto a pirate ship and sitting down, he figures. Her look is weird, her behavior is off, her everything rubs him the wrong way.

Besides, the figurehead is _Luffy's_ spot. There's always been something off-limits about it, and it went without saying.

Brook's attentive silence is met with no answer. Franky tenses.

"Ah—if I might inquire about something else?" Given the slight hesitance, but yearning in Brook's tone, Franky can pretty much guess what he wants to _inquire _about. The woman lifts a brow but says nothing, rubbing at the flat of her blade absently.

"Oy, Skeleton-bro," Franky says, voice low but warning.

Brook takes the silence from the woman as a invitation and continues. "…Do your panties have lace on them?"

The woman's heavy-lidded gaze shows no reaction to the question. Franky firms his stance, readying an arm as she lifts the blade slightly from her knees. To his surprise, rather than leaping forward to attack, she flicks a finger against the flat. A wavering hum fills the air—a hollow, lonely sound, like the ring of a wind chime. This hum continues on, steady, and Franky's head fills with a warm buzzing, blanketing the alarm rising up to meet it.

He stares as the woman rises to her feet, swaying. Or maybe he is swaying? He feels at his chest. Had someone replaced his cola with tequila when he wasn't looking, or—no, that couldn't be possible either. Even the surprise he feels at the effect the tone is having on him begins to slip away. He slumps to his knees, impact making his whole body shudder.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, an alarm is flashing, turning, red. _This is not good, Franky, not good!_

The woman descends from the figurehead, nearly falling over before swaying back the other way and staying upright. Though Franky knows he needs to move—Brook's fallen to his knees too, whatever she's doing it doesn't seem to matter if one hears with flesh ears or not—it's like he forgot to connect his brain to the rest of his body. The hum still drowns out everything.

She's reaching her free hand to touch Brook now, her eyes taking on a hungry gleam and her formerly vacant expression turning to a menacing grin as long as one of cook-bro's kitchen knives. His mental efforts to get his limbs to _move_ shift into high gear, but he barely even gets a finger to twitch.

Even his eyelids are drooping, and it takes all the concentration he has to keep them from closing completely.

_Damn it! I—I can't—_

The humming has turned into a buzzing that rattles against his skull. The sight of the snow and the woman before him begins to fuzz at the edges. His eyelids refuse to lift—

A scream, distant. He jerks, one last-ditch effort, combined with surprise, enough to keep him awake. Maybe it's doing no good, but he renews his efforts to concentrate, to fight off the sleepiness that's blanketing his mind.

He looks up in time to see Brook clatter flat to the deck, unmoving. One of the woman's hands hovers in the air where Brook had been just moments before, then drops to hang loose at her side. Stepping around the fallen skeleton, the woman strolls toward Franky, seeming to shimmer in the air, limbs twisting and ballooning strangely. Franky still can't move, struggling to bring up an arm in self defense. Relaxing warmth flows through him, growing more overwhelming the closer she gets. It's like being drunk. He's starting not to care about anything, even the fact that she'd boarded unannounced, knocked Brook out, and brought Franky himself to his knees with little to no effort.

She's looking at him as she lifts her hand again, but her gaze is unfocused. The hand thrums, he can feel it in the air. His chest surges with revulsion and he jerks back. He finally manages to get one leaden arm up and catch her wrist, hyper-aware of Brook still lying behind her. He shudders with the simple effort of keeping her hand from resting on his face. She's moving forward, millimeter by millimeter, but Franky'll be dammed before he gives up.

After several agonizing moments her hand touches down, more icy on his forehead than the air, and the world tips on its axis. Snow turns to sharp pricks whirling across his skin, despite how tough it is. Her touch remains solid, like a magnet on iron, despite his straining to push her away. He can't even comprehend this weakness that seems to have taken over his whole body. He can see her mouth forming words, but he hears nothing except the dizzying hum. He sucks in one last breath before her brow furrows and his conscious thought is rent to shreds.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for what I know are fairly long waits, but they ensure that these chapters are out at consistent times, and that I'm keeping a chapter or so ahead of updates. I also give up fretting over how anything in any chapter I've had written for months, yet not published to the world, resembles anything in the new OP chapters just out in the past few weeks. Some things should have been an obvious train of logic, I guess_…_


	14. Broaching to

**The Psychology of a Shattered Mind**  
by Liashi  
14: Broaching-to

_"Tell me another story."_

_Think. Nod. It's hot in the tower today, and the sunlight is warmest on his knees. Ideas flit in his mind, and he grabs tight to the first one that seems really innocuous. Can't be giving too much about himself to a Celestial, after all. "I once heard about a man with five arms. He used them to play five different instruments at the same time, and he traveled the world as this incredible one-man band. The best part was that he never had to argue over how to split the pay for a performance. One day, however, he came upon something unexpected—"_

_Saint Iddis still wants more. _Tell me another,_ comes his demand. The sunlight shining through the windows has shifted, now scattered into colorful rays by the jewels sitting loose on the windowsill. He thinks …_

_"Hm … the yaka are a very mysterious, but beautiful, creature living way up in the coldest parts of North Blue, and very little was known about them other than that because they were so rarely seen. Not, at least, until a rather brave adventurer got lost on the way back to his home island—"_

Another.

_"No one could ever expect that a rei—er, a rhino could talk like a human. But that was just what this rhino could do. Now Brutus, he was a particularly nice rhino, despite his name—"_

Another.

_"Normal octopus are only of much use on a plate, but once I found one that could do much more than that—"_

_And _another_ …_

_It gets to the point where Lady Adel finally seems to take note of the frequency of the requests, but she only watches coolly while working with her needle, covering that same robe with more and more complex designs. She tells Usopp evenly that she still expects some housekeeping done, no matter how much entertainment Saint Iddis demands. And to remember that she is listening to every word._

_The way she says it, with a oddly placid tone, yet creased brows, he's not sure whether that's a warning or a promise._

* * *

_Eventually, he finds himself attending Saint Iddis at outings, and at family dinners. The family dinners take place in a room with a table long enough to serve the inhabitants of Syrup Island in their entirety—maybe more. Reminds him of Alabaster, in some ways. A black-suited, sunglass-wearing attendant holds Usopp's chain while Saint Iddis is busy eating. Usopp has gathered that these black-suits are actually compensated workers and manage things for the Celestials like schedules and security._

_Can't trust that to slaves, Usopp supposes._

_Both Saint Venosa and Saint Gathram are attended by their own slaves. Gathram has a pretty, rather young-looking girl, who keeps his plate stocked with food. Venosa is using a long-limbed male—does he have two elbows on each arm or is it a trick of the light?—as a seat. Usopp finds the glazed look in the man's eye disturbing, so he tries not to look at him. Chilly, he rubs at his upper arms, careful not to jostle the chains too loudly. Wouldn't want to draw attention of course, but he feels slightly more protected with them across his chest, so it's worth the care he has to take. _

_Eventually he notices that Saint Venosa keeps giving him sideways glances, her perpetual smirk quirking up more whenever she does so. He forces himself to stare at the back of Saint Iddis' chair, which is decorated with such extensive carving that there's not a flat surface to be found on the thing. The complex light and shadow thrown by the woodwork blurs into something incomprehensible under his distracted gaze. It's taking every last stretched nerve he has just to keep from edging away from that woman._

_The silence of the room is awkward and foreign to him. Mealtime on the _Sunny_ has always been a noisy affair—one thing that had never changed since he'd joined the crew. No, it had only intensified with each new addition. He liked it like that, in all honesty. The wild conversations they tended to fall into gave him great story ideas, and many of those critical flourishes and embellishes in between._

_But at this table here in Mariejois, there is only cloying silence—and for Usopp, that one woman's difficult-to-ignore menace, weighing heavily on top of it. He renews his private promise to himself to keep as far away from her as possible._

_Saint Iddis eats slumped against the edge of the table, head propped up with one arm. Usopp can't be sure since he can't see the young Celestial's face, but by the pose he'd peg Saint Iddis as _very bored_._

_It's Saint Gathram who finally breaks the silence as he carves into a herb-coated chicken breast with all the carefully honed elegance of Sanji trying to impress some ladies. Saint Gathram probably isn't even trying to impress anyone, however, Usopp supposes._

_"I must tell you, son," Gathram says, "Your mother and I have a small trip planned next week."_

_Saint Iddis perks up, his head coming up off his hand. "Really? Where? Can I come?"_

_Saint Gathram quirks a small smile—almost sympathetic. "I'm afraid this will be a just-the-two-of-us sort of trip. The one she's been asking for, to Sals Beach."_

_"Yes, you would be regretful of _that_, wouldn't you?" Usopp just barely catches Saint Venosa mutter from behind a goblet of wine. There's a sort of bitter, grudge-tinged note in her sour tone. He tries not to ponder this for too long. Saint Venosa will be gone for a while, that's good—he should not be curious why she's muttering things like that._

_"Oh." Saint Iddis rests his head on his hand again._

_"Lady Adel continues to look after you well, I trust?" If Saint Gathram and Saint Iddis had noticed Saint Venosa's muttering, they don't comment on it._

_Saint Iddis shrugs. "Same as always."_

_"Very good, very good," Saint Gathram says, taking a spoonful of soup. "You'll have her to retrieve your needs while we are away, and as always, I shall leave a substantial allowance for you."_

_His cheek is back on hand now. "Great," Saint Iddis says with no enthusiasm._

Nami,_ Usopp thinks,_ Would probably freak just to have whatever your allowance is.

_Saint Gathram pauses with spoon in air. "I'm sorry, Iddis, but you know what happened to poor Saint Roswald and his family at Sabaody … the late gall of a few filthy pirates makes me loathe to risk your safety any more than necessary. I promised you a trip to the slave market and indeed I kept that, but I made no such guarantees about a beach vacation." _

_"It truly makes you wonder about what the Marines are doing, to let a situation get so out of hand," says Saint Venosa, again smiling like she's amused._

_"It's fine," Saint Iddis says, slowly stirring the vegetables and meat on his plate into one massive, lumpy pile._

_Usopp can hear the trying-not-to-care in his tone._

_"In any case," Saint Gathram says, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a napkin, "Is there something you'd like us to bring back?"_

_Saint Iddis seems to hesitate before speaking. "Well … if you found an interesting piece of driftwood or rock or something on the beach for my collection, I guess."_

_"Very well." Saint Gathram nods. "Your mother and I shall pick up a nice gemstone, or perhaps a pearl, while we're there."_

_"I hear their pearls are quite famous," Saint Venosa adds. She turns her arch smile on Saint Iddis. "Don't worry, dear, we'll search all the shops for the most beautiful one we can find."_

_Saint Iddis slips off his chair, taking the chain from the attendant. "I'm gonna go back to my tower." Usopp sags in relief, and doesn't need to be glared at to follow Saint Iddis out._

_"A _gemstone_ or a _pearl_," Saint Iddis mutters, drawing the two words out mockingly. He sighs. "Like I need any more boring window decorations."_

* * *

The silence that replaces the sound of tromping and scraping on the deck above makes Usopp pause mid-bite, uneasy. It's the littlest thing, easily nothing, easily just Franky and Brook being finished—Nami's still working on her ham sandwich without apparent alarm—but it could just as easily be … something. He swallows thickly, waiting, his own sandwich drifting down to rest on the plate in his lap.

Nami finally notices his hesitation. "Usopp?"

A muffled hum fills the air, making his clenched teeth vibrate faintly. With a start, he claps his hands over his ears. Pain stabs between his eyes and panic roils his stomach. He knows this sound, and this particular wave of vertigo.

He scrunches his eyes shut, trying to ignore the hum, trying to pretend it isn't there, and colors and images flash behind his eyelids. Dark black and flaxen blonde, night sky above and Kaya laughing at him from her window. Cerulean blue and bright mauve, ocean far below and balloon-like octopus carrying the Merry gently down. Brown, sweat and desperation. Joy. Terror. Determination.

Everything begins to jumble in a rainbow wash.

He pushes to his feet, the plate and sandwich tumbling to the floor. He keeps his hands clamped firmly over his ears, because blocking it out, even only this little bit, is the only way to keep from utterly succumbing. Nami, who hadn't gotten her hands over her ears, seems to be losing a fight not to slump over on the couch. Her eyes wander, oddly unfocused, before settling on him. Her lips move but she can't seem to give voice to words. With every second that ticks by she her eyes look increasingly glazed over.

The humming is still vibrating his teeth and stabbing little invisible knives into his head. He fights against the disorientation and dizziness with every bit of will he has, stumbling in several different directions before his back slams up against a wall. The jolt slows the progression of the haze trying to overtake his mind, and he gasps for air, feeling starved for it.

Fendori.

He becomes acutely aware of a yawning gap, torn ragged at the edges. Let Fendori take him out and he'd wake up remembering absolutely nothing, save that _they own you_, for the second time. Once a slave, a slave forever. Once nothing, nothing forever. They'd prove that right. They loved to prove it right. He can't lose here.

He remembers her well enough, the Devil Fruit user that could steal and change memory—though he wishes he didn't. He'd been vague when he explained to this crew. It was a way not to think about it so much, and he hadn't thought they'd need to know the details. A lump in his throat gets harder to swallow against. She reminds him of being trapped, of no escape, no hope, the ending of everything that was so important …

He has to stuff a mindless panic back down into an imaginary box somewhere in his chest. Guilt surges quickly after. She shouldn't be here. There's no reason, not unless this is about him—

The Sunny shudders faintly under his feet. He remembers again that Franky and Brook were outside and pauses, waiting a long moment. No further shudders rattle the ship. He can tell that Franky and Brook are tough, but with no warning, again that Devil Fruit user … whatever fight there was, was a losing one.

Suddenly, Luffy's hat resting on the far couch cushion looks incredibly accusing. How can he tell him they've lost Franky and Brook, because of someone coming after _him_? He can't be entirely sure what Luffy would do with that kind of news. He wants to think Luffy wouldn't come down hard on him, but still—

He shakes himself. He's losing time. Can't afford that. Need to hide, before Fendori gets here and gets him, too. _Prioritize, then_, he decides, though he has to struggle for it. _Worry about what Luffy will think later._ He turns and looks about for a hiding place. It needs to be close, and it needs to be good—_Pantry? Too easy. Dumbwaiter? I could maybe fit through an opening that big, or … the oven? Not many people would think of hiding in there, so not many people would think of looking there, either_. He takes a few steps, then realizes he's about to forget all about Nami. She still isn't moving, her eyes staring dully up at the ceiling.

_Dead weight. Leave her. She'll drag you down, and it'll be all over._

He shifts his feet, tension building in his limbs. He starts indecisively toward the dumbwaiter, then the oven. He needs to hide or he won't even save himself. At one last hesitant glance back, his eyes fall on the straw hat.

His chest seizes up and his eyes burn hot. He turns around. With two rushing steps he's back at the couch, grabbing Nami by shoulders and shaking her and silently begging she snaps out of it.

At first, nothing seems to happen, and Nami is as comatose as ever. Then, she huffs faintly. With a languid blink, she lifts a hand and rubs at her face. She pushes herself into a sitting position and looks at him with furrowed brows. He can barely hear her repeat his name questioningly. Her brows furrow more and she puts her hands to her ears. The hum has faded out, but there's no telling when it'll be back.

_We have to hide. Quick._ He turns to go, grabbing on her wrist and tugging. He hopes his alarm transfers somehow, even if the words don't. He glances at the hat again, then reaches over and slips the strap over his arm. Whatever happens, he has to keep it safe, too. For Luffy.

Nami lets herself be dragged to a standing position but resists being pulled along much farther. "Wait, Usopp, what's—"

He whirls and clamps a hand over her mouth, alarmed. They need to hide and they need to _stay quiet._

Nami's waiting, looking at him uncertainly. Okay. Options. He can take the oven and Nami can take the dumbwaiter maybe— The faint click of the handle of the door to the deck turning is followed by the first salvo of cold air, as good as a slap to the face, stunning him with panic. _Already finished with them and coming—coming in _here_. _

Shaking off the entanglement of Usopp's grip, Nami's hand snakes down her shirt and draw out a folded blue rod. Snapping it into a long pole, she gives it one aggressive wave through the air, mouthing something. It's warm all around them, almost stuffy, and the cold breeze flowing over them dies. The room around them wavers with the warmth. She leans back as he tries to push them both away from the opening door, but doesn't give a step, instead knocking his hands away and covering his mouth, drawing him closer to her. Only then does she begin to slowly inch toward the galley's countertop, out of the main path through the room.

He stiffens, wide-eyed, as Fendori looks straight at them. It's over. If she's this close, there isn't time to grab a weapon in defense. He scrunches his eyes shut and tries to block out everything. To somehow project _you don't see me, I am nothing, I don't exist_ with his mind. Maybe somehow she won't notice him, but failing that, maybe he'll get lucky and dying won't hurt so much, either. Not if he doesn't exist.

Silence. Stillness. Nami's hand stays over his mouth. The moment becomes incredibly drawn-out, and his sense of horrified anticipation wavers. He cracks open one eye again. Fendori's moved a little farther into the room, her eyes moving right past the both of them. Her stare stops at the fallen sandwiches, then continues on to the door to Chopper's sick bay.

Usopp's still trying to figure out how it was that Fendori had … had … _looked right through them_. He turns his head a little, enough to catch Nami out of the corner of his eye. A faint but knowing smirk on her lips, Nami jerks her chin in the direction of the door to the deck. Fendori's left it open.

He really can't believe such a perfect exit, yet something about it, the way it looks—

They both freeze when the skeleton ducks through the doorway, but he can see Nami's lips parting, her soft intake of breath foreboding of speech. He claps his hand over her mouth, as she had done only moments before, and hopes she doesn't drop their invisibility. _If Fendori's gotten to Brook and Franky, but not injured them… _The room around them still seems to shimmer and wiggle. _Like heat over desert sand, _he thinks, another image trying to impress itself over the scene. He shakes his head, forcing himself to concentrate.

Brook doesn't look at them.

"Ah—I—Fendori-san?" Brook murmurs. Something in his voice sounds heavy. Solemn.

Nami's eyebrows lift, and she looks rapidly between the two. Fendori turns, eyes steady and unafraid. She's not surprised by the skeleton's presence. Her hand lingers on the handle of the door to sick bay. "Yes?" She still doesn't seem to notice them, and Nami doesn't move to do anything else, besides narrow her gaze suspiciously at the exchange. Usopp feels relief. Nami's got a sharp mind, he realizes, one that won't easily be taken in by appearances. They can't afford to reveal themselves until they know exactly what Fendori's done to their crewmates' memories.

Brook takes a few steps forward, listing to one side before correcting and coming to a stop. Usopp swallows, knowing the lingering lack of balance for what it is. He does remember what it felt like at first. Brook seems to shake himself a bit and mutters something incomprehensible before returning his attention to Fendori.

"I apologize—I—I know what Luffy-san said but … it seems so hard to believe. I may have been with this crew the shortest time of all, but even still—" he gestures weakly, the hesitations sounding more confused than distressed, at least at first. "Still, that Usopp and Nami could have—" he seems to debate some before his jaw just shuts with a click. He holds himself more stiffly now than Usopp ever remembers seeing and plucks at the edge of his blue cravat, seeming lost in thought.

Fendori regards Brook for a moment, and then speaks slowly, words deliberate and considered. "Brook … I can't claim to have any experience with having one trusted crewmember turn against me, much less two—" Nami starts under Usopp's hand, but Usopp keeps his eyes and ears on the conversation, hoping to find out _exactly_ what memories she'd changed in Brook and Franky. It wasn't a complete wipe, that much was certain. There hadn't been enough time for that. Fendori's tone is smooth, soft. The kind, Usopp thinks with a shudder, that you might use to lure in nervous animal. "—Yet I saw as you did how furious Luffy was with what happened to your dear doctor. The only thing I can say is that you must accept that while Usopp and Nami once sailed happily alongside you … time and circumstance have brought them to do the unforgivable. Everyone has a price, and Usopp had already once fought against your captain, had he not? I don't envy your situation, but surely you can agree with Luffy's judgment? Such an outrageous act can't possibly be left unpunished."

Brook slumps, growing so quiet Usopp has a hard time hearing him. "If only we could … but … my, you're right, I know. I only wish … well." Brook's shoulders sag. "I suppose I shall … search the men's and woman's quarters." He does better with his balance on his trip back to the door to the deck. Something about him seems grimmer than it did when he'd come in, even with his lack of facial expressions.

"Brook—" Fendori calls back, and Brook pauses, turning slightly. "Hesitation might allow them to repeat what they did to Chopper. As regretful as you may be … try not to give them that chance."

The skeleton doesn't move for a long moment. Finally, with a nearly inaudible sigh, he turns and leaves. Fendori tips her head, eyes narrowed at now-empty doorway. At length, however, she proceeds on into the sick bay.

Nami and Usopp look at each other. Comprehension and a faint alarm now shine in Nami's eyes. Usopp nods at her, flicking his eyes toward the door. Three dangerous enemies. They need to get off this ship. Get help … get _Luffy_.

They can only hope Fendori didn't already get to everyone else, too.

"Stay close to me or you'll be seen," Nami mutters, and Usopp doesn't question it. Together the two of them move toward the door.

As they approach the door, Usopp again feels that something's off about it all, and a sense of disorientation strikes him with odd familiarity. They're too close to escape now for him to stop and ponder.

They burst into strong sunlight pouring down from a clear sky. A warm, heavy breeze ruffles their hair. The deck is devoid of snow. There's a faint but constant roar in the distance, something like rushing water.

His knees start knocking as his mind connects this sudden weather change with Fendori's presence, and he wishes he could sink through the deck, sink to the bottom of the ocean, sink and curl up somewhere he can never be found.

Winter is gone, and in its place is a summer day, on a summer's land.

They're doomed.

* * *

AN: Yep all, sorry for another "dun-dun-duuun" sort of chapter, but I'm still trying to set up quite a bit, here and in my head plan. Remember that this did start out as a one-shot. Plus ever since I got a full time job, it's sucked out most of my creative energy. I hope to see you all again in two months but I can't make any promises. As always, however, thanks for reading.


	15. Full and By

**The Psychology of a Shattered Mind**_  
_by Liashi  
15: Full and By

_Usopp wakes up every morning that Saint Iddis's parents are gone with a significant sense of relief. Lady Adel doesn't seem to be either bothered or glad at their lack of presence, instead going about her daily business the same as always. She makes all of Saint Iddis's meals, continues her various sewing projects—all of them something for Iddis—and occasionally gossips about all those people Usopp doesn't know while he's cleaning. Otherwise, she doesn't show much reaction to anything._

_Saint Iddis, for his part, is moody._

_It's in these days that Usopp connects the request for something Saint Iddis can add to his "collection" with, for starters, the jewels lying in one windowsill. More importantly, Usopp suddenly understands the pile of rocks that Lady Adel, on his first day, had warned him quite pointedly not to disturb._

_Saint Iddis, he … well …_

_He talks to the rocks._

_That much Usopp can tell past the fact that Saint Iddis mostly mutters as he moves the rocks around in what look like interactions of some sort. He doesn't quite know what to make out of it, seeing as no matter how lonely he'd ever been, he never went so far as to… talk to rocks. Some dolls or figurines or something, yeah, ones he made himself, but not rocks. Besides, that was only when he was pretty young. Wasn't Saint Iddis always talking about how he was "fifteen, just short"? At fifteen, he'd long ago found people instead—Kaya, Pepper, Carrot, Onion—heck, even the whole village had been something of a special companion for years._

_Guess Celestials like Iddis had enough money and pleasure that friends was an out of fashion concept. Maybe the fact that they tended to use people as playthings said it all._

_Usopp wonders if Saint Iddis has any friends … has ever had any friends. He almost feels the stirrings of an idea at that thought, before he shakes his head. Not like a Celestial would want to be friends with a mere slave. Besides that, Lady Adel's _I am watching_ echoes in his head then, and he looks over his shoulder, even though he knows she's out personally buying ingredients for Iddis's dinner. Him making friends with her oh-so-noble charge probably wouldn't thrill her, either. If Saint Iddis even took to him that way …_

_"Tell me about your island," Saint Iddis says without preamble, cutting into Usopp's thoughts and making him jump._

_"Er—"_

_Saint Iddis gives him a look that silently questions Usopp's intelligence. "The island you came from. Y'know, where you lived before? Tell me about it."_

_"Well, that's a bit … complicated. You see I, uh, hadn't spent much time there recently."_

_"Why not?"_

_After a brief internal debate, he supposes that it wouldn't hurt anything to talk a little bit about what he's seen on the Grand Line—just so long as he doesn't get too specific. Saint Iddis seems only barely aware of what goes on outside of Mariejoa, anyway. It gives Usopp a little more to talk about. No matter how much he always talked even when no one was really listening, it's surprisingly wearying to do so once it's made a constant demand._

_It also evokes a sort of fondness to talk about his adventures and his crewmates, even if it's all very indirect. He feels pride when he catches the wide-eyed wonder at some of the tales he can spin from their adventures. At other times, when he gets no reaction, he worries that Saint Iddis doesn't like the story he's telling, even though he doesn't think it's any less exciting than any of his other ones._

_Later, however, he begins to recognize a pattern. It's when Lady Adel is around and watching them that Saint Iddis acts the most cool. Usopp's not quite sure what it means—whether Saint Iddis is just self-conscious about looking like he's enjoying "silly" things too much, or whether he's aware Lady Adel wouldn't like seeing Saint Iddis so interested, or … what._

_In the late afternoon two days before Saint Iddis's parents are due back, Lady Adel heads off to make dinner preparations a bit earlier than usual. For a while, Saint Iddis keeps right on building his long-as-one-of-Zoro's katana jigsaw puzzles. He's been working at it pretty much all day. Just when Usopp's gotten used to the silence, Saint Iddis leaps to his feet and calls to the black-suit man standing attentive against the wall. "You! I've got an assignment for you."_

_Black-suit man straightens his shoulders. "Yes?"_

_Saint Iddis puts his hands on his hips. "I'm so bored of that green dish set Adel likes to serve me dinner in. I want you to go to the main kitchens and find a different one and make sure she serves it in that one today." He begins to count off on his fingers. "They're white with a design in red, kinda abstract, and the bowls are deep. The cups are all red glass, no decoration. Plus the plates are triangle-shaped." Saint Iddis thinks for a moment. "That's about it. But _don't_ bother showing your ugly face here again until you've got them or I'll have you fired." This said, he flops back to the floor._

_Black-suit stiffens briefly at the threat. "Right away, Saint Iddis," he says, giving a short bow before striding from the room._

_Usopp feels kinda sorry for the black-suit, even if he is getting paid for this. Job security makes Usopp nervous too. He double-checks his flapping speed on the giant, leaf-like fan he'd been assigned to back at the beginning of the day, when Saint Iddis had started working on the puzzle. It's so easy he's been dozing on his feet, eyes half-lidded in case Iddis looks at him and wants something. Usopp suspects sleeping on the job is very frowned upon here._

_He's just so bored …_

_Saint Iddis hums once black-suit exits, then he scrambles to his feet. He turns to Usopp with a wide grin, reminiscent of Luffy's I'm-so-proud-of-myself one._

_Crap._

_"That guy'll be gone for hours getting a dish set like that made up custom …" Saint Iddis looks Usopp over and chuckles to himself, a gleam of a plot in his eyes. Usopp is beginning to suspect that Saint Iddis never cared about the dishes at all. After a moment, the glee lurks only faintly in the angle of Saint Iddis's mouth, and he looks more his normal unimpressed. "Now follow," he says, and moves off toward one of the room's walls._

_Usopp debates briefly before figuring there really isn't a choice anyway, so he puts the fan down and lines up behind Saint Iddis. Saint Iddis is doing something to the wall that's making little clicking noises, though he keeps his body positioned just right to block it from view. Without warning, the entire wall slides aside to reveal the landing of a covered outdoor staircase, going somewhere up the side of the tower. The breeze coming in through the opening is calm and sun-warmed._

_Saint Iddis proceeds out and up as Usopp stares in amazement. He hadn't even suspected that this entrance was here in the wall this whole time. A rather clever piece of work …_

_"I _said _come on, stupid!" Saint Iddis calls from somewhere on the stairs, and Usopp, snapping out of his daze, scrambles to catch up. The Celestial doesn't look back as they follow the staircase winding up the outside of the tower. "Why'd this one have to be so dumb sometimes," Usopp can hear Saint Iddis muttering as they climb. "He looked smarter than this at the auction."_

_Usopp bristles at that, clenching his hands and jaw before forcing himself to relax. It doesn't matter what_ anyone_ says, so long as he stays alive and gets back to everyone. It just doesn't. Not really …_

_He tries to forget about it._

_The staircase heads inward as it begins to go up the tower's domed roof. The roof turns out to be flat on the top, with a short white wall running all the way around a circle-shaped area only slightly smaller than that of the Thousand Sunny's crow's nest. A stronger breeze tousles his loose hair as he emerges from the covered stairway into sunshine._

_The city stretches off into the distance, towers and rooftops nearby not quite as high as this one—from here, you can see everything. It all keeps stretching on and on until it vanishes into wispy clouds and haze, making the city seem endless, like the ocean. He turns to the right a little, stiffening at the sight of a much larger building, like an island rising up from the sea of smaller ones. The walls have towers, and towers rise out of the top, until it's towering so high that the clouds hide how far up it really goes._

World HQ … _he remembers this being pointed out, briefly, when he'd first arrived._

_Saint Iddis is sitting on the edge of the low wall and smirking. "Ready to pay attention yet?" he asks, pulling a familiar tan sack from behind his feet, where it had been mostly hidden by Saint Iddis's long robes. Usopp starts to feel a little dizzy, perhaps a combination of the height and shock, recognizing the bag immediately as the one with all his weaponry and gadgets. The slavers had taken it and he kind of assumed they threw it out or sold it off or something, but now … here it was._

_"So it is yours," Saint Iddis says with satisfaction, pulling the sack into his lap and opening the clasp-top. Usopp almost protests, taking a step forward, but he stops himself just in time. Taking no apparent notice of Usopp's slip-up, Saint Iddis rummages around in the bag, picking out and peering at a few of the stars before putting them back, as well opening up the small bags of Pop Greens that Usopp'd been collecting and learning about up till the day he managed to make it out of Glinston. His chance to escape had been mostly inadvertent luck, surprising even him, but one thought of Luffy had left him without hesitation. Perhaps if Usopp'd been willing to hang around longer than a few months, which had been just long enough to_ start_ getting tough, Heracles might have come with him all the way to Sabaody after all, but as it was, Heracles simply hadn't been willing to follow Usopp off the island. If he had, Usopp supposes he wouldn't be in this mess, but it was nothing but regrets and lost chances now. He doubts he'll see that strange warrior again … though Luffy probably would have liked his beetle-shaped armor._

_Saint Iddis continues: "I've been wondering about the use of this stuff, though mostly this thing they said was your weapon." He reaches down again, to pick up the long green slingshot that had also been mostly hidden by his robes, bringing it up so that it flashes in the sun._

_Usopp can't help himself this time. With the crazy view up here, and the sight of his bag for the first time in weeks, he hadn't yet noticed that all-important bit of green, and he's caught off-guard. "My Kabuto! How—er—I mean—" he blurts, before slamming his mouth shut and swallowing nervously. Oops._

_"So it's called the Kabuto, huh?" Saint Iddis waves it in a few different directions before sighting down through the curved forks and pulling back on the dial-pocket experimentally. Usopp grimaces and hopes the kid doesn't take his own eye out or something. They'd probably blame it on Usopp._

_"Er—should I demonstrate it for you—m-master?" He may never get used to that word, the way he still has to force it. Well, anything to get it out of this kid's hands._

_Saint Iddis stares at him a minute, then looks back to the Kabuto, the looks back to Usopp. "I've decided you will show me how it works," he says with lifted chin, holding the weapon out. Usopp slowly moves to take it, but just before he has his hand around the staff Saint Iddis jerks it away. "Don't try anything funny on me, 'cause you'll _never _make it out of this city alive if you do. Got that?" _

_He puts it Usopp's hand when Usopp nods in all seriousness. Certainly, Usopp had already assumed that much. No need to repeat it._

_Setting the bag on the ground, Saint Iddis shoves it over in Usopp's direction with a foot, then settles cross-legged on the wall. Usopp squats down, trying to decide what to use. It seems like his bag's been looked through quite a few times, because nothing is where he remembers putting it. Finally he settles on an exploding star, but one of the ones he'd been avoiding using since he had to skimp on the explosives when he was making it. He doubts it will damage whatever it might end up hitting, though it probably will make a nice flash and smoke cloud to impress Saint Iddis. …If it doesn't end up going practically out of sight, that is._

_This settled, he places it in the dial-pocket. The worry of all the past weeks falls away with the Kabuto back in his hands. It almost feels like something is under his control again. He sighs in relief before resting the staff end on the floor with a satisfying thunk._

_"This weapon … well, one shouldn't be fooled by its simple appearance…." He gains more confidence as he goes on, easing into the tone he usually reserves for storytelling, and posing in various ways as he briefly explains the dials and stars he has available for use. He leaves out the Pop Greens though—he's not entirely versed in them. Besides, Saint Iddis is impatient to see some action._

_"Ok, ok, I got it." Saint Iddis waves a hand. "Demo already!"_

_"Oh—yeah, right, right!" He says, and hurries to pull back, taking care to aim so that he can't be mistaken for aiming at Saint Iddis, even if he is mostly facing him._

_"No! Not like that," Saint Iddis says just before Usopp releases. "C'mon, turn to the side or something so I can really see!"_

_Fingers now itching to feel the incredible recoil, ears eager to hear that powerful snap-crack, Usopp whirls his body, keeping his eyes on Saint Iddis for approval. "Like this?"_

_"Yeah, that's perfect."_

_Now he'd show this Celestial what he was really made of! "Exploding Star: Mini!" He announces, looking to the Kabuto just as he releases. He can tell the shot is gonna go far, as the wind's not even against him. It will go far enough, even, to reach—_

What the_—what _is the _HQ building_ doing _there_?

_"Ah—that—that was—" The Kabuto slips from his fingers and clatters to the ground at the flash and distant bang, followed by cloud of smoke, that comes from halfway up the wall between two towers of the massive HQ structure. He just … he …_

_"Wow! You got it to go all the way and blow up the HQ," Saint Iddis says with a cheer, leaning out over the wall in the direction of the HQ, as if that could get him closer to the explosion or something._

_"Ah—ahi—" He can't seem to do anything but stammer as he watches the smoke-cloud dissipate into the dream-like haze that lingers over the city._

_He hit the World Government HQ with an explosive. He's going to die. He's really, really going to die now. Tears course down his cheeks as hopelessness descends over him. _

Goodbye, cruel world … goodbye, eight thousand not-so-loyal followers … goodbye, my beautiful little nose …

_"So you pull it back like this, right?"_

_Usopp stares blankly up at the sky, wondering if he is going to heaven or hell. Hasn't all this been punishment enough? "Yeah … just like that," he mumbles. Whatever. His life is over._

_He blinks at hearing another snap-crack, eyes wandering back down from the sky. He's lost it, that's what. He thought he dropped the Kabuto, but now he's firing randomly … guess he's really gonna go out with a bang. Is he laughing insanely? It doesn't feel like it._

_Something explodes faintly in the distance._

_"Crap. Missed."_

_Missed?_

_The fog of despair clears from his mind just enough to register Saint Iddis standing in front of him, facing World Government HQ with Kabuto in hand while shakily pulling back on the dial-pocket._

_Snap-crack!_

_His eyes widen at the sound of another distant explosion, a smoke-cloud billowing up from the smaller buildings off to the right of the HQ. _Is that people … screaming?

_"Oops," Saint Iddis says, bending to grab another exploding star from the bag now sitting at his feet. "Okay, one more time and _this_ time I'm gonna hit it!"_

_Usopp holds out a hand in a weak plea to stop, still rendered speechless._

_Snap-crack! Boom!_

_Another smoke-cloud goes up somewhere between them and the HQ. The sound of shouting and screaming grows clearer._

_"Oops. Fingers slipped."_

_Snap-crack-boom!_

_"I wasn't being serious that time. This one's for real!"_

_Snap-crack-boom!_

_"I meant to put it there! Now I'll hit the HQ!"_

_Snap-crack-boom!_

_"Ugh, this elastic isn't working right."_

_Moved far beyond panic and into a strained calm, Usopp nods to himself thoughtfully, with thumb and pointer finger to his chin. _Ah, I get it now, _he thinks, nodding again,_ Saint Iddis is an absolutely horrible shot.

_The previously peaceful and dream-like cityscape is beginning to look like a war zone with all the billows of smoke going up. A long, low siren begins to wail in the distance and speakers echo out over the city._

_"All residents of Mariejois, take cover immediately. This is not a drill. Repeat, take cover indoors immediately. Marine protection now being deployed. This is not a drill."_

_"Crap," Saint Iddis says, tossing Kabuto to the side, "Now Adel's gonna come check on me."_

_As Saint Iddis hurries past toward the staircase, Usopp thinks to himself how appropriate it is to die in a city full of explosions. Yeah. At least no one will think he went down without a fight._

_"C'mon, stupid, we gotta go!" Saint Iddis returns and grabs Usopp by his collar, dragging him along behind, back down the stairs. "I can't have her coming up here and finding my secret hideout."_

_Usopp wonders absently how long it will take the Marines to figure out where all the explosions came from and come arrest him._

_Closing the sliding wall back up with a slap to some sort of hidden panel, Saint Iddis pushes Usopp to the spot where he'd been standing earlier and shoves the fan back into his hands, which Usopp begins fanning without prompt._

_Even in here, he can hear the siren going off and, faintly, that warning announcement. Feet are pounding up the inner staircase, Lady Adel's voice echoing up, sounding alarmed. Saint Iddis flops on his stomach in front of the puzzle, picking up a piece and fitting it in a slot just as Lady Adel runs in the room, skirts flying and chest heaving. "Saint Iddis! Are you all right? Have there been any explosions here?"_

_Usopp focuses on fanning the fan and trying to breathe calmly like he's been standing around all day, rather than like he'd just been dragged down five flights of stairs by his neck._

_Saint Iddis, hand on chin, only sighs and sounds bored, craning to look at the window. "Is that what all the noise is about?"_

_Lady Adel, wringing her hands, heads to the window and peers out, keeping most of her body behind the wall. "Oh god, I just hope it's not another Fisher Tiger."_

_"Dunno what you're freaking out about. Sounds kinda exciting to me." Without a flicker of emotion, Saint Iddis places another piece into the puzzle._

_"I couldn't bear it," Lady Adel groans. "After the fright we had when that pirate attacked here all those years ago … you only just two … we were nearly killed by that monster … "_

_A black-suit, different from the one that had Saint Iddis had sent away earlier, appears in the doorway. "My Lady, a marine is at the door to confirm that everything is all right here."_

_Lady Adel looks out the window again. "It seems like the explosions have stopped." She turns back to the black-suit. "Thank heavens for decent security measures, for once. I'll be there to speak with him shortly, thank you."_

_"Ma'am," the black-suit nods with slight bow and disappears back down the tower staircase._

_Lady Adel crosses the room again, catching Usopp's gaze with a worried one, then looking to Saint Iddis. "You will stay away from the windows, won't you? I'm sure your father would want that."_

_"Sure," Saint Iddis says, keeping his eyes on the puzzle and still sounding like he couldn't care less about the whole affair._

_Usopp stares at Saint Iddis in mild surprise. Maybe he can't aim to save his life … but kinda like Lady Adel, he sure seems to have control over the mood he projects. When he really wants to, at least._

_Lady Adel gives Usopp one more look that says "keep him _safe_" before she hurries off down the stairs._

_There's a beat of silence and then Saint Iddis begins to shudder, a hand flying to his mouth to stifle laughter, though it doesn't help much, and Saint Iddis lays there banging his fist on the floor. He rolls over when the mirth has mostly subsided, leaving only laugh-tears in the corners of his eyes, and grins up at Usopp._

_"…Mas-master?" Usopp ventures nervously. _Stop grinning at me like that, darnit! This is freaking me out!

_"That…" Saint Iddis says, still grinning, "…Was the most amazing thing ever. We have _got_ to do it again sometime."_

_Usopp tries to smile, but he's pretty sure it's more of a grimace._

_This Celestial … this kid is gonna be the death of him._

* * *

Although the hood of his long green coat is pulled up over his head, Sanji can feel his face slowly freezing as the wind buffets him and Luffy at random intervals. He keeps up a steady pace while Luffy darts from one side of the street to the other, poking his head curiously into doorless entryways, or any door he can actually open without needing to knock it down.

"Hah-lloooo," Luffy bellows into the latest open door, making Sanji cringe a little, before that gives way to annoyance. He wishes Luffy would keep quiet. He can't hear anything else when Luffy does that, and he needs to. There's something creepy about this town, and the way the wind whistles through it. It's just … it's off. He's fairly certain the place has been abandoned by its population, except—

He also has the feeling that someone is following them … that someone is watching.

There's a soft _fwump _from somewhere behind. Sanji whirls around, but the street is empty. Their footprints seem to be the only ones stretching out behind, slowly filling in with blowing snow. Perhaps that was only a pile of snow from an overhanging roof?

He takes a draw on his cigarette as he watches the street with narrowed eyes, looking for the slightest flicker or shadow to give their stalker away.

Nothing.

"Sanji! I found a restaurant! What're you waiting for?"

Sanji turns back toward the waving Luffy, wanting to roll his eyes. "Oy, this town is abandoned. No one is gonna be serving—"

His idiot captain has already vanished inside. Sanji grumbles and grudgingly follows, looking all about as he does so. Still nothing. If the feeling's still there when Luffy gets finished looking around this building, he's going to see if he can't pin down what it is that's tailing them.

He _really_ doesn't like the vibe this place is giving him, and he _really, really _doesn't like feeling hunted.

Sanji closes the door gently behind himself. It doesn't completely keep out the cold or snow, since the windows to the place are open square holes in the walls with decorative bars—it's odd again that someone would make a building that way with all this blowing snow—but at least it might serve as a warning to whoever or whatever is following them that they are not completely unsuspected.

Luffy has taken a seat at one of the tables furthest from the windows, where the color scheme of bright blue, green, and white is the least crusted over with ice and snow. He seems to actually be waiting for food, fork and knife in hand, neck craned to look at the swinging doors to the kitchens.

Sanji stares despite himself, and asks what really is a stupid question. "Luffy, what are you doing?"

"I'm hungry."

Which is something he assumes about Luffy, like the fact that his hair is black, so it's not like that answer explains _anything_. "The whole_ town_ is empty; this restaurant's abandoned! No one's serving food here!" He throws his arms wide to indicate the whole icy place, exasperated.

"You're here, aren't you?" Luffy gives him a manically wide grin.

Sanji splutters around his cigarette a moment before recovering and becoming even more annoyed. "You—fine. _Fine._ But there's probably no ingredients in that kitchen. You'll be lucky to see me bring back anything, even a stupid yellow snow cone."

He marches off through the swinging doors, before Luffy can do anything to annoy him further. He's slightly calmed by the sight of a stovetop in the back room, a small refrigerator, and single door that probably goes into to a dry storeroom. "I don't know why I'm bothering doing what he wants," Sanji mutters to himself with a sigh, but oddly enough, he feels stretched too weary to really fight his captain on the point. He best try and get this over with.

The refrigerator is empty—as he suspected it would be—but in the unlikely event that there are any dry ingredients in the pantry, it would be a waste to leave them behind, so he may as well take the time to check. Not that the _Sunny_ is really low on supplies, but extra never hurt. It isn't like there are any people around here using it, and Nami would appreciate any monetary savings in the next restock.

He strolls toward what looks like the pantry door. Maybe he'll get lucky and they'll even be unopened crackers and jam, or something similarly quick, that he can use to appease Luffy. He opens the door with one hand—

—and stares down a stone staircase that descends into inky darkness. Air warmer than that of the dining area wafts up, bringing with it a smell of sour and dank that reminds him of … of …

Something old. Old and rotten. Kind of like the dungeons where they found Usopp.

He shakes himself. No, this couldn't be like that. Now he really is being paranoid. It's probably just a big pile of half-frozen, badly spoiled potatoes smelling things up down there. An annoying waste, but nothing to freak out about. Still, there could be something in dry storage that would be worth taking, even if most of the fresh ingredients had already gone bad. Bags of salt and sugar, or bars of cooking chocolate, or spices, perhaps—

He discovers a torch in a holder with a quick glance at the side wall, and the coating still looks good enough to burn, so he puts his cigarette lighter to it. Holding the torch out to cast as much light in front as possible, he begins to descend into the dark.

The odd smell gets stronger as he descends, until he finally emerges into an area that looks nearly as large as the Sunny's galley and dining area, though in the weak torchlight it's hard to tell. There's a table off to one side, but once he takes a few steps closer, he realizes it's entirely bare. For a moment, he puzzles on finding nothing but an empty room, until the light falls on a shadowy hallway directly across from the stairway.

For the first time he really hesitates, the stomach-turning memories of finding Usopp nearly dead in a place not unlike this one resurging with a vengeance. Still, a sort of morbid curiosity draws him forward—after coming all the way down here, he isn't about to turn around like some sort of chicken, at least not before he finds out what's giving him such bad vibes. And it could be that he's entirely imagining it.

Step determined, he moves into the hallway, eyes darting left and right as the torch light moves and flickers over rows of bars—_cells_—and the dark shapes beyond them. If any of the shapes are alive, they don't move enough for him to tell. He stops when he can make out the end of the hall, and tries to peer through a set of bars. Well, it could be a person, sure, but—well, it could be those potatoes with an old blanket over them, too. It's simply too dark, and the light too weak.

"Oy … anyone alive in here?"

A long silence. His shoulders relax a little, before—

"I am."

Sanji whirls, taking an instinctive step back from the tall, burly form he finds standing there. In the beat before he'd spoken Sanji'd gotten warning prickles on his skin, but where did this chump even come from without making a single sound? Shadows stretch and wane in the torchlight, falling particularly dark over the man's eyes. Sanji doesn't recognize the guy. He's no regular marine, at least. The dark material of the man's clothes looks stiff, armor-like, and light-colored fur juts out from beneath it at the collar, shoulders, and wrists.

The man shifts, tugging forward chains slung over each shoulder that clearly have something heavy hanging off the other end, and all the while never lowering his chin. "This is a restricted area. Prisoners are not to be released without express orders. State your purpose, agent."

Sanji notes with a stab of irritation that he has very little room to maneuver. This guard, or whoever he is, is large enough that he takes up most of the corridor, and he's between Sanji and the only way out. There's always the chance that he could kick his way out the ceiling if he had to, since he's not that deep down, but with the potential collateral, it's probably better to play it cool.

_Agent, is it?_

"I was sent to check on prisoner status … " Sanji shrugs. "It appears the entryway door wasn't properly secured, but otherwise everything else looks good. My superior should be satisfied."

"Status check? I wasn't expecting one, not at all," the guard says. He turns to rattle the door of one cell with a foot, and mutters: "Yes, definitely secure, very secure, quite good."

"Precisely." Sanji puts on his most winning smile, which the guard merely blinks at … he thinks. Still hard to make out that kind of kind of detail, even with the torch held higher. A hand in one of his pockets, he slides on past, doing a little turn that leaves him both backing up toward the exit while still facing the guard. Ah, now he sees what's hanging from those chains—spiked balls slightly larger than the average head. "Well, I'll be sure to let them know everything is secure here—keep up the good work."

Sanji's about to turn back around and make his escape when the guard's voice rings out with a deep, warning "_wait_."

"Hm?" He's not far from the exit now, almost back into the open room with the table. _Keep it cool, keep it cool…_

"Were there any further orders, agent?" The guard queries, staying where he is, which gives Sanji some measure of relief. He pauses briefly, as a show of thought.

"Just keep to your post. We won't be checking in for a while."

"…very well, then." The guard nods—maybe. At this distance, he can hardly see him. Sanji turns and strolls toward the exit, congratulating himself for a pulling this off so smoothly.

A giant slab of stone slams down in the doorway, blocking the exit and nearly smashing Sanji in the process. He jerks back just in time, only to throw himself to the side as something large rips through the air where his body had been. Little chips of rock from the stone in front of him sting his face.

As Sanji debates his options and what this is about, the spiked ball that had slammed into the stone is pulled back. As it grates its way back toward the hallway, slow footsteps approach. Sanji still has a grip on the torch, and he casts about for some sort of switch that might get the stone to lift back up. A deep frown on his face, the guard emerges from the darkness of the hallway as he gathers up the last of one chain and slings the ball back over his shoulder.

"So," the guard says, "You thought you could fool me, did you, prisoner?"

Sanji tenses. Uh… maybe he can still talk his way out of this one?

"Prisoner? I'm no prisoner here and never have been. Just look at how I'm dressed!" Sanji gives a little tug on the end of his suit jacket. "Besides, if I _was_ a prisoner, why would I _break into_ the prison?"

The guard bursts out with a single, derisive laugh. "Clever logic, and even more clever disguise. But your mind games won't work on me. You've already said all I needed to know." The guard sets his feet in a wide, ready stance. "Surrender, return to your cell peacefully, and you won't be punished."

"Hell no." He's not sure what he said that's made the guard suspicious, but really, _give up?_ This guy was even more stupid than he looked.

The guard's spiked ball comes shooting his way again, and again he dodges. The table behind him splinters down the middle. Sanji darts forward and delivers an upper-cut kick that gets blocked by a steely forearm. Falling back onto his hands, he barrages the guard's block with his feet, finishing with one last kick to the gut that sends the guard flying back into the opposite wall.

The man lands on his feet, barely looking phased, the chain he had just gathered in his hand fallen loose. He jerks back on it. Pain lances through Sanji's legs as the spiked ball slams into the back of them. The force sweeps his feet out, but he turns that into a roll out of the way of the second spiked ball's downward swing.

_You just had to be curious about the creepy dark stairway, didn't you?_ Sanji grumbles to himself, noting absently that he'd left the torch lying on the floor when he rolled. _Just _had_ to._

The guard's faster than he looks on the defense, and his arms are about as solid as Zoro's swords, so even as the fight drags on Sanji still can't manage to get past his … guard and land a good kick to something not covered in armor. Still, beyond a few close-call nicks and that one slam to his feet, getting just enough blood trickling down into his shoes to be aggravating, the guard hasn't done all that much damage to Sanji, either. Sanji's too quick for that, especially given all the practice he's had fending off surprise attacks. There's not a lot of variety in the moves the guy can pull off either, and Sanji only needs to see it once to know how to doge with ease.

It's when he has to squint just to make out the outline of the guard that he realizes the torch lying on the floor is going out. Alarmed, he makes a dive for it, grabbing it up just as the last embers fade and the room is plunged into complete, disorienting darkness.

He has a hand in his pocket when he realizes that taking his lighter to it would only make him an easy target. He dodges to the side on instinct, feeling the slight movement of air as one of the balls rushes past where he'd been a moment before. A long silence follows the ball's impact into a wall.

He pauses, down on one knee. It feels like he's floating in a sea of nothing, his only reference point the floor beneath. Careful not to make a sound, he sets the torch back down. The guard was quiet enough to sneak up on him once—Sanji's not even perfectly sure where the guard last was in comparison to where he himself is now—and the guy could very well be on the move again. If Sanji moves, he could walk straight into the guard, but if he doesn't, the guy could walk straight into him. Either way.…

Slowly, he gets to his feet and backs up until he comes the nearest wall. Staying against it will save him from any surprises from behind, at least. He moves his hand out in arcs as he slinks along the comfortingly solid expanse of stone, hoping he gets a clue where the guard is before it happens the other way around.

He makes it to one corner before the room is filled with a rumbling sound and dim light once more comes from the stairway. It's just enough to make out Luffy in the doorway, standing with one fist pressing at one of the stairway walls, his shoulders hunched.

"Oy, you greedy jerk!" comes Luffy's incensed voice, "You found a super-cool secret stairway and then _explored it without me_?"

But Sanji almost entirely tunes out the complaint after the first two words, seeing that his opponent isn't that far away and is staring in confusion at Luffy. Taking one leaping step, Sanji twists to slam his heel into the side of the distracted guard's head, ramming the guy into the floor so hard he tumbles head-over-heels at least once. He would have kept on tumbling, except that Sanji follows up with an upward sweep that tosses the guard back the other way, rolling until he hits the wall and slumps limp against it.

_About damn time._

Luffy marches over as Sanji retrieves and relights the torch, then checks to make sure the guard's good and out. Sanji notices a ring of keys on the guard's belt and snatches it up. He turns to see Luffy standing with his arms across his chest, tapping one foot and still looking ticked.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Sanji says, settling for being long-suffering, since he has other things to deal with beyond Luffy's irritation. "Big fat meanie. As I recall, you were the one that demanded food from me, and this happened to look like a possible storage cellar."

Luffy lets his arms drop. "Eh? There's food down here?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out."

Luffy follows Sanji back into the dark hallway, looking left and right while making quiet sounds of curiosity. The first cell door Sanji tries is unlocked and swings open on completely silent hinges. There's a bedroll and blankets in the corner, still warm. That explains where the guard had come from.

Other than that, most of the cells turn out to be empty, shadows simply playing tricks on his mind. One of them does have some bags of sugar and stale-smelling coffee piled in a back corner, so Sanji makes Luffy carry the sugar, with a firm admonishment not to eat it. Luffy protests with slight insult that he's not _that_ hungry yet, he can wait for Sanji to make something out of it.

At the last cell, Sanji peers in and decides there really is something in there, lying still under a blanket. The smell is stronger back here. He fumbles a little with the keys even though he already knows which one it is. Sounding like it hasn't been opened in ages, the lock unlatches with a grinding screech, and the hinges whine as the door swings open. Luffy follows him in, sandals slapping on the floor. Crouching, Sanji grabs the blanket, and steeling himself, pulls it back in one swift motion.

"That's gross," Luffy says with disgust. "All rotted."

Sanji straightens, throwing the blanket to the side, where it flutters into a heap. "What—this—"

Potatoes.

Old, shriveled, rotted potatoes, so far gone even the roots that had tried to spout became dried and brittle. But no prisoner. No body. No nothing, just … wasted potatoes.

He doesn't know what to think.

"Hey, you're not gonna make us eat these, are you?"

He lights his cigarette and takes a deep puff, before mumbling, "no, you idiot," and Luffy doesn't say anything more. For a long moment, Sanji just stands there staring at the stupid rotten potatoes, mind whirling, trying to make sense of all this.

_There were never any prisoners. Nothing to guard. Yet the guy had talked like there were. Like guarding was all he'd ever done here. Seemed so convinced, and yet—_

Sanji turns his head and looks behind, past Luffy and the cell bars, out toward the hallway and the "guard" lying crumpled in the dark room beyond.

_Even though Nami-san's log pose told us this would be the quieter route … something here is rotten … not just this bunch of potatoes, either._

_I want to know _what.

* * *

A/N: Gosh, these scenes just would. not. stop. I was thinking I was going to release this last weekend or something but I think I was having too much fun, plus the flashback got an additional part that made me shuffle something else to a later chapter. So erm ... I think longest one yet for you all. Hope you enjoyed.

Thanks for still reading, and as always any CC is welcome.


	16. Adrift

**The Psychology of a Shattered Mind****  
**by Liashi  
16: Adrift

Nami glances at Usopp with shock as if to ask, _Are you seeing what I think I'm seeing?_ before Usopp recovers his own wits and pushes her out of the line of sight of the door. He's not sure how long whatever she did is going to hold, or why the snow has vanished, but now is not the time to be taking chances. Still, while he moves even he finds himself staring, unnecessarily, at the distant palm trees dotting the shore where the town isn't as built up at the water's edge. The difference without all the deep snow is startling. The place almost looks inviting. Friendly.

_How is this possible?_

As he looks, pieces of the puzzle begin to click together. Growing horror at the truth—no, the deception—of this island turns to a heavy weight trying to drag him to the floor.

Raiders, just happening to find them in the middle of a bad snowstorm. Being watched from the skies. Fendori's presence, the most damning fact of them all. If this is Master's territory, than it all makes sense. He's in control here. Nothing is impossible. _We all see only what he wants them to see, and know only what he wants us to know. _Had they even left Mariejois _at all_?

He wants to curl into a ball and die. If all this isn't real … if these people only remembered him being someone called _Usopp_, because _Fendori_ made them … because those were the parts master was having them play …

It had seemed so real. He'd _wanted_ to believe this ship, this crew, were real.

He blinks and the landscape is snow-filled once more. The cold of the air is sharp in his throat. He slumps against the wall at his back. The _Sunny_ seems to grow less solid underneath him, the presence of Nami beside him similarly growing distant and fuzzy.

If it's not real …

_Traitors. Fascinating, aren't they?_ This jars him. The thought was sharp, like red on white. Clear enough it was nearly audible—someone saying something. A sort of memory, maybe. Had he said it? Had someone else? What did it mean?

He can't remember.

It had all felt so right here. He thought this ship might have been that thing he'd needed. That something that, back in the Gray Ring had kept him saying _one more fight, one more and then—then—_

The ache for that unknown washes over him, both disorienting and unwanted, but also equally irresistible. He's blindsided, his vision tunneling and chest growing inexplicably constricted. He tugs at his loose-fitting long sleeve shirt, as if pulling the material away could help him breathe.

_Fendori takes her hand away, and proclaims with that same eerie calm: "Shattered."_

The cold wind whips into his back like needles, and he is staring down, down into a split in the earth that goes so deep, into a place so dark, that the bottom is impossible to see. A familiar voice calls out from somewhere in the distance, but it echoes from all directions, the sound attacking in waves of blurred noise. It still feels like he's leaning out over the edge, even when he takes a step back. The cracks surround him, sectioning the ground into jagged shapes like pieces of broken pottery.

_You are beyond parts. You are almost beyond use._

On the other side, a finely clothed woman with long hair of shimmery sky blue strokes at her harp, playing placid chords that swell delicately, like rolling of the ocean. In the next moment she's turned to a wiry, pale girl that seems to have a hard time staying upright, even with the harp as a sort of pillar to cling to. Her eyes peer to the side from under bushy black hair, faint smile betraying a sort of fondness, and apology. Then her hands are gnarled, trembling as they move. They are the hands of an old man. His face shifts into something younger, with skin of pale green and gills, then to a middle-aged woman with piercing eyes and a sharp jaw line, before the parade of different people and faces marches onward fast enough to became a barely decipherable blur.

He can almost put names to those faces, stories of lifetimes and enmity and alliance, his own parts, the parts of others. But—he doesn't know, each memory whirls by too fast, ripped from him almost the moment he clutches it, leaving him with nothing but a faint sense of loss. Layers upon layers build on each other, into heavy desperation. Only one of the broken threads of these tales is a constant, bleeding its own color into the others when they touch it, and he scrabbles for that constant, trying to catch hold of it, trying to find an anchor to make the whirling stop. He can never seem to catch hold of it. The other threads keep his hands too busy.

Who am I?

_Who am I?_

"A battle?" Booga-shaka says, gliding into place. His face is expressionless enough that it would even be smooth like porcelain, if it weren't for the puckered scars running here and there on his face and arms. He grins suddenly, savagely. "Then you'll need me."

Light swirls into deep green of towering evergreens, into ruffled ocean, into winding streets of gray stone, into darkness.

Beyond his closed eyes, something cool and damp and soft pads gently at his face before coming to rest on his forehead.

"…opp?"

Nami's face peering down at him with creased brows swims into focus.

"Hey." She smiles gently, her voice subdued, almost soothing. Her leg is beneath his head like a pillow. "How are you feeling?"

He blinks, the question taking some time to register. It feels like he's been sleeping a long time, and his limbs are heavy.

What is this odd fuzziness in his mind? It's like white, blank paper—or—no. It's not like blank paper at all. It's like paper that a pen has traveled over and over, putting down so many lines that every line blends with the others.

"Cold," he finally concludes in a whisper, shivering, while at the same time, becoming aware of a coat draped over his chest.

The coat is tucked in around him more firmly. The wet cloth comes off his forehead and Nami, frowning, puts a hand to his cheek. "You feel a bit warm to me," she says, voice still only just above a whisper. She stares down at him for a bit in silence, but her eyes are troubled. Finally, she says at first ponderously, as if uncertain she should say it: "Do you remember what happened?"

He closes his eyes and thinks back. "I…" he says, before he remembers the more alarming thing. "…Fendori!" He tries to jerk upright, but Nami keeps him down with her free arm. He quits resisting her and simply lies back when he finds the world spins and tilts around him at his brief attempt to sit up. Still, his skin practically crawls with the urge get on his feet and be ready for a fight. There's one coming, he's sure of that now. There has to be. If Fendori's here—

"Never mind that," Nami says quickly "Look, that swordswoman or whoever she was—she and Franky and Brook couldn't find us, and left. They kept talking about how we had betrayed them or something. But there's no way…" Nami shook her head as if in disbelief. "That was an hour ago and they haven't been back—but I'm getting worried. I haven't heard fighting, but no one else has come back, either."

_A whole hour? _Though mostly he's just trying to regain his bearings, Nami seems to take his silence and lack of movement for acceptance of what she'd just said. "Usopp," she says with urgency, "Do you have any idea why you … blacked out like that?"

He stares up at her face, trying to come up with an answer, starts to say something, then shuts his mouth after only a preparatory inward breath. He wants to say, _lies_, but he knows it won't make sense. It only _feels_ right. He tries to imagine himself saying to her: "Lies made me black out. Yes, Nami, lies," but he can't manage it. He struggles to sit upright while thinking, blinking when he is up enough to recognize his surroundings. They're in the girl's cabin, judging by the two beds and the soft mauve of the walls—Franky had brought him through here on that ship tour. Still cold, he pulls the coat from where it had folded on his lap and drapes it over his shoulders.

"Where we were against the wall felt too exposed, even if we were invisible. So I dragged the you over here with me—you were still able to move around then, even if you were mostly out of it already—and snuck inside once both Brook and that Fendori woman had searched it," Nami says, apparently sensing his unspoken question. She shrugs. "I kept us invisible for a while, but no one came back in here before all three of them left together anyway." Nami cocks her head, watching him, probably waiting for the answer to her question.

It's his turn to shrug. "Guess I got worked over too many times by Fendori," he offers, thinking this might be clear enough.

"Worked over? _Who_ is Fendori? _What_ is it she can do to people?" Nami demands. She is beginning to sound exasperated. If he's not making sense with that last bit, maybe he can't at all.

Was there even any point to explaining to her? He wonders. Fendori made Franky and Brook turn against the two of them in a matter of minutes—no doubt a rush job that they could have broken through if they'd tried, but he doubted quick enough to avoid fatal injury. How long until he's on his own; until _she_ thinks he's an enemy? It's not as if Fendori could do any of that to him now, but he's been overused. He's able to remember her attempts to change his memory, to sense the inconsistency and strange gaps of a false, imposed persona. It's what made the discards into discards, after all. "Fendori is the Devil Fruit user that works for our master. She can modify memories, and she's the one that made me forget who you all were. Who I was."

There. By the look in her face she's starting to understand. Her hand shifts to draw Luffy's hat, unobtrusively dangling from the crook of her elbow by its cord, to sit in her lap. A new, more disturbing thought comes to him, one wrapped up in one of the scattered memories he couldn't seem to forget even though he wished to. He has to look away again, if only to keep her from seeing the expression on his face, which he knew would make Nami more inquisitorial.

If he stays with her, he might have to fight her. He might even have to … to …

Kill her.

The recoil in his heart is immediate and violent, and now he can't sit still, instead getting up to pace back and forth. In one moment he wonder how he could even _think_ such a thing and in the next, wonders why it took so long to. Would the swordsman, or Luffy, or any of the others still have the memories now to want to come after him if he did touch her? If this whole situation is a set-up, their master has done a thorough job of making it very convincing. He's been "sailing" with this "crew" on this "ship" for … well, it seems a few weeks, and never noticed a moment of inconsistency. Such thorough memory changes would mean fighting on a grander scale than mere pit matchups, or vignettes. Booga-shaka can't keep playing around like this, because if he does he'll end up dead. Maybe worse.

But the thought of doing anything to Nami grows a sickening knot in Usopp's stomach, as bad as the first time. No—not that. This time, he'll do everything he can to avoid it.

"_Our_ master?" Her tone is sharp and incredulous.

Booga-shaka frowns grimly to himself. Nami—or whoever she had been before—is no sack of bricks, that's for sure. He should have realized she wouldn't miss a small implication like that.

"My master, I meant. I was thinking of something else."

There's a glimmer of something dangerous in her eyes now. Honestly, he took back what he said about _her_, so what more does she want? They were the ones that "rescued" him, so there should be no doubt who _he_ belongs to.

"Usopp—" Nami begins, but Booga-shaka holds up a hand, looking away.

No matter. None of it matters anymore. He has to treat this like any other fight now, and that means no attachments. Besides, arguing the point with her is rather pointless, however he looks at it. In her mind, this is perfectly real, and her memory of events that make this setup work are no doubt far too expansive to argue away. He begins to slip his arms into the sleeves of his coat.

It's hopeless. Usopp wants to sit right down and wait for whatever's coming, but Booga-shaka won't have that. It's time to act. And perhaps _Usopp's_ not so interested, but Booga-shaka finds going down without a fight repulsive. It's the principle of the thing! He's no warrior if he can't stick out a stupid fight.

_But it's not just a stupid fight,_ Usopp thinks to himself, fumbling to zip up his coat and button the four large green buttons holding the flap over the zipper closed through watery, blurred vision.

"I'm going to need a weapon, and I recommend you keep one with you too." He strides toward the door. "From now on … " Usopp's throat begins to close on itself, and he has to pause to get himself under control before it gets too noticeable in his voice.

_Damnit, Usopp, can't you do a single thing without overreacting to it?_

"From now on, you should stay away from me," Booga-shaka finishes. "Stay away from everyone."

"Now hold on a minute," Nami says, sounding alarmed. He can sense her rising from the bed, stepping towards him, so he throws open the door to the deck and plunges into the whirl of deepening snow, squinting to buffer his eyes from the blast. There's no time to ponder the sudden reappearance of the cold and snow, or whether he'd actually seen those palm trees earlier. He has to consider ways to defend himself, and fast. No doubt this crew changed where the weapons are stored after last time—and he somehow doubts Nami will want to hand one over to him—so the first order of business is to lift one from someone lacking enough skill to keep it.

Nami calls out after him as he makes it to the lower deck railing and judges the length of the drop to the pier. Gritting his teeth, Booga-shaka squashes the urge to look back. Doing so might just make his determination crumble again. This is the better way—the only way.

He hurtles over the railing, Nami's snatch at the back of his coat torn away by his fall.

* * *

After passing through the requisite airlocks and cleanliness checks, Breakers adjusts his black tie nervously at his last chance for a pause to gather himself. Familiar peals of laughter grow louder at his approach to the east end of the mountainside villa. No matter how many years he's served Saint Wyndal, the Celestial's strange obsession with his story scenarios has never seemed to get less unsettling.

Not that he lets it show while at work, of course. This is a job and he has a certain pride in keeping things professional.

With a quick but deep breath, he squares his shoulders, plastering on his most polite and placid expression before proceeding inside. The darkened room flickers with the bright light of a projector snail, the image of a large ship sailing in whirling snow filling the wall opposite. Saint Wyndal, his face pressed into the raised end on his plush white fainting couch, is pounding one fist against the top edge while his shoulders tremble with wild laughter. If he's actually trying to stifle it, he's not succeeding very well. Breakers sets the tray of food he brought fresh from the kitchen onto the side table, next to the controller snail, then retreats to the other side of the couch where he's out of the way of the video. Saint Wyndal, his laughter slowing until it's only a spotty chuckle, reaches over and presses a button on the controller snail, sending the video on the wall rapidly backward.

"Just look at this, darling," Saint Wyndal says, lifting his head just enough that Breakers can catch the gleam of tear-tracks down Saint Wyndal's cheeks in the pale white light. Saint Wyndal's pale blue robes almost look white, too, here in front of the flickering screen. "These … these pirates … "

Obediently, Breakers trains his eyes on the video. _They seem familiar from somewhere,_ he thinks as a blond in a suit kicks a guy in a thick coat—he recognizes the latter as one Saint Wyndal's cannon fodder fighters—off of the ship, cutting off the pathetic chump mid-attack. Saint Wyndal goes back to trying to merge his head with the couch, harsh laughter echoing off the walls.

Breakers resists a frown, instead noting every detail in hopes of gleaning some information. He's always tried to keep abreast of pirate groups but with the poor weather conditions and camera movement it's hard for him to be certain about much of what he's seeing. Only really distinguishable from the invading party by the more colorful, varied outfit they're wearing, the pirates in the video plow through Saint Wyndal's invaders with relative ease. However, when the camera gets in for a good close up look at a youthful, stretchy fighter who really seems to be enjoying knocking the invaders about, the identities of the pirates he's watching hit him like a sock to the gut:

_Straw Hats!_

Two members in the so called Supernovas of a few years back; one rookie captain who'd been whirlwind of destruction and mayhem at Impel Down and the War of Greats; noted fugitive Nico Robin … and more besides. Notions of their isolation and resultant safety on this island flee, though just as quickly, he resigns himself to the pirates' presence here and begins to mentally schedule the placement of some contingency plans. Despite Saint Wyndal's confidence in his own abilities, such proximity makes Breakers nervous. These are the punks who'd made the ruckus at Mariejois only a month or so ago, though he hadn't gotten a good look at them back then because he'd been so concerned with evacuation proceedings. Reports from their men still in the city said they'd had the gall to break into Saint Wyndal's holding cells, for what reason Breakers wasn't sure, but he didn't like the fact that they had. They'd managed to let quite a few of the slaves there free—even some of those from the discard row. Breakers shuddered. He was glad Saint Wyndal and himself, as well as a significant amount of staff, were long out of the city by then. Saint Wyndal had gotten at least one call from an incensed Celestial, upset that he'd been clawed and bitten and nearly strangled to death in a surprise attack by one of _Wyndal's_ loose slaves. He'd "shot the bastard dead," he thought Wyndal should know, and he "wasn't about pay compensation for it."

Saint Wyndal hadn't said anything, just laughed, "if only I'd been there to see it!" and hung up. But that was Saint Wyndal for you.

The more troubling fact was that, if some of the reports were to be believed, the Straw Hats had actually taken someone from the discard row away with them. He would have thought it witness' brains making things up, except that he knew how pirates did things that made no sense sometimes. Especially insane, unpredictable pirates like Straw Hat Luffy.

Thus he'd been glad when Saint Wyndal had shown no interest in going back to Mariejois, instead seeming content to turn Tallu Island into a stage away from stage. The Straw Hat attack was a massive blow to the impression of Mariejois security Breakers had once had. After all, if a pirate crew that had vanished for an entire two years and only recently reappeared could somehow get in _and_ out of the city, causing massive damage while about it, who knew what else other pirates might actually be capable of, or if the Straw Hats would just keep coming back for kicks? Clearly that Fisher Tiger invasion was no anomaly. Even if it had been ten years ago, the very fact that it could be _duplicated_ … tch. Those bungling marines still hadn't figured out how the Straw Hats got inside in the first place.

But he supposes he really shouldn't be as worried as he is. Saint Wyndal has always been a little unusual, for a Celestial. Most of them view Devil's Fruits as nothing more than cheap bits of entertaining torment for slaves that are growing boring—not only do they dislike the sometimes-uncertain effects or the taste, they seem to feel like eating it is implying that they need skills. Such admissions are beneath them, of course, since Celestials are already perfect. But not Saint Wyndal. He seems to relish the chance to employ his Devil Fruit, and has an unusual admiration for physical strength and prowess, even keeping his own body well-toned. He tends to treat most slaves who come to him with excellent physiques like a rocker might his guitar: making that body sing beautiful notes before smashing it to pieces, in a frenzy of passion, at concert's end.

Still, even if Saint Wyndal isn't nearly as defenseless as most Celestials, Breakers does much prefer that he sets up his play zone here. At least the whole island around the villa can be under his control instead of that limited area he had in Mariejois. It's much more secure.

Giving out only the occasional snort, Saint Wyndal settles himself on the fainting couch more properly again. "It is just as Fendori said," Saint Wyndal murmurs to himself. "With this much material to work with, I hardly know where to begin."

The video has progressed to some scene focused on a man in a strange mask standing on the roof on the aft of the ship, looking like he's searching the sky. Saint Wyndal grins. "Booga-shaka has recovered better than expected, hasn't he?" the Celestial asks in a tone that isn't actually seeking an answer. Breakers hopes the way his shoulders stiffen at the revelation of who the man in the video is doesn't show. _The one they took from the discard row … damn, those stupid pirates really did take one of the cracked ones with them. _"All nice and put together for the opening of this final act … " Watching the images moving along on the screen, the corners of Saint Wyndal's mouth move higher and higher and nearly back into themselves in a nasty little curl.

"Permission to enter?" comes Fendori's flat and even voice from behind.

Saint Wyndal rolls a little to look in direction of Fendori, who is in the doorway down on one knee with head bowed, a hand gripping the middle of the sheathed sword she has resting on the floor in front of her. "You are most welcome, darling," Saint Wyndal says. "Come and give me your report."

Fendori approaches, attaching her sword back onto a loop at her waist. "The other two crewmates I caught off-guard at the ship have been processed according to your request. However, the navigator has abilities in atmospheric manipulation. I could sense two others on the ship but I could not seem to find them—I must beg your forgiveness. I suspect the navigator was hiding the both of them, and that her skill may be improved over what Usopp knew of her."

Saint Wyndal pinches the bridge of his nose. "I do wish you would stop using that name. How many times do I have to repeat, _he is Booga-shaka_."

Fendori dips her head in more apology. "To refer to Booga-shaka as the one who gave me my knowledge of them would be incorrect, Saint Wyndal. I mean nothing by it except to remain completely accurate in my explanations to you."

Saint Wyndal sighs and flops back against the couch, clasping his hands over his stomach and staring up at the ceiling. "Booga-shaka always has been annoyingly creative like that. It's not your fault, so never mind. They've obviously treated him quite well. He'll fall into line soon enough. Your processing of the other two went smoothly?"

"Entirely successful, except for the skeleton's strange obsession with panties, which I could not eradicate. For a little while I was unsure my power would have any effect on a being without a mind … without a physical mind, at least. It seems to have taken hold well enough otherwise."

"Hm." Saint Wyndal's eyes slide over in Fendori's direction. "But my ability works on him, so I wouldn't have feared yours would not."

Fendori dips her head again. "I am in the habit of assuming little about unusual opponents."

Saint Wyndal reaches over to the plate and feels around before picking up one of the plump strawberries that their head chef had carefully prepared not too long ago. In fact, Breakers had almost been late getting them here, no thanks the cook's neurosis over strawberry selection. Breakers had stood around a full fifteen minutes past time, watching the cook choose the final five strawberries. The cook would turn each one over and over and mutter to himself all the while. Most of the fruit had ended up tossed in the trash, for what Breakers assumed were blemishes of some sort, not that he himself could tell the difference. In the end every strawberry was large and a perfect, even red, with not a pinprick of blemish to be found. Breakers had kept silent, even though the extended wait had made him a bit nervous. He figured the cook knew what he was doing, having kept himself employed for a whole six months—unusual for one of Saint Wyndal's cooks.

Still, the guy was certainly looking haggard around the edges and if Breakers were him, he'd be putting in a resignation while he had the chance. It was hard to keep up with the constant demands for seventeen-course meals, all with no repeated dish in any given three-month period. Saint Wyndal kept track of these things surprisingly well, and there were quite a few cooks that had been put through hell just for repeating a dish, either by accident or design, only a few days before it was allowed.

Breakers is glad he's not a chef. They really seem to cycle through them the fastest. At this rate they'll have to pick up a chef _slave_, because people talk and it's getting hard to find new applicants no matter how high they make the salary. Very few Celestials are _this_ picky about—

Breakers clenches his eyes shut in reflex, though he manages to stay stock-still otherwise, as something tepid, wet, and sticky slaps a thick line of goo down his face.

"_Strawberries?_" Saint Wyndal spits again, this time at the floor. "_Plain strawberries?_"

Breakers feels he has taken sufficient stoic pause to be allowed some clean up, so he pulls the handkerchief from his breast-pocket and begins wiping the chewed strawberry from his face before it can run down behind his sunglasses and into his eyes.

"Chocolate-covered would have been one thing, but this is entirely another! He knows my preferences and my rules," Saint Wyndal hisses, hurling the half-eaten berry to the floor. "This is completely unacceptable."

Fendori remains where she is, not even a flicker of apprehension crossing her face. Of course. She's always been the favorite. She even gets away with disagreeing sometimes.

Saint Wyndal spits a few more times and then rubs at his mouth with a sleeve. "I believe the souse chef is very deserving of a promotion." He looks to Fendori, malice in the glint of his eyes. "I want you," he tells her, "To bring our _former_ head chef to me." Rising from the couch, he takes up the plate of laboriously selected strawberries and dumps them to the floor, grinding each one to pulp with the thick heel of his white boots at a slow pace matching the rhythm of his orders. "Have. Him. Clean. This. Mess. Up." Saint Wyndal rubs the sole of boot off on a dry spot of the floor off to one side, still smiling like he's about to toss out the punch line to the best joke he's ever told. "But when you do, darling, make sure he does it _properly_. Get him to make it spotless, you know … like the dog he is."

* * *

A/N: Arrrrgh that part with Nami and Usopp took forever to iron out. Why does it have to be so hard to divulge information without devolving into exposé, or giving out more than you want? Besides that, of course, there were my usual reasons for delay, which you've all read about before. I really can't say when the next part will come out. I do think about the fic pretty much everyday, though. If I had to guess, I'm at story midpoint or approaching it? XD Anyway, thanks to all for the feedback, including the two recent anons Brilliant and Plushbones. I hope to update for you all again sooner rather than later!


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